


A Cold Day in Hell

by ravenclawkohai



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-03-26 10:24:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13855836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawkohai/pseuds/ravenclawkohai
Summary: Cloud, a strife demon, is summoned by Sephiroth, who is interested in making a deal.





	1. Chapter 1

               Cloud wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, when he felt the call. It had been years and years since the last, and frankly, he thought the instructions for the ritual had been lost. That would have been no real problem for _him_ , considering these calls tended to be dull as dirt and something he only followed through on out of a vague sense of duty and a larger sense of interest in avoiding being questioned by his superior.

               He gathered himself as he felt the call grow stronger—fixed his hair, summoned on the expected lavish jewelry, paused while choosing his clothes. What did they _wear_ nowadays? Hells, but he’d been away for too long. He remembered the flowing togas of the last time he’d answered a call and stayed for an extended period of time and hoped they weren’t back in style. He settled for the tight, dark pants he was already wearing.

               “They have no patience,” he grumbled as the call built from a tug to a yank on the core of him. He had enough time to glance in the mirror at his work, decide it would have to be good enough, and give one last put-upon sigh before he was pulled up.

 

               Though this was his least favorite part of his job, he was still _good_ at it. He took pride in his work and it just wasn’t in him to do things half-way.

               There was a blinding flash of white and a crackling explosion as he appeared in the center of the carefully drawn circular sigil, his entrance accompanied by a spray of ice that burst out around him, coating the ground and coming up sharp points aimed away from him, as if he was the breeze that had formed them that way. The candles placed around the sigil remained lit, though they flickered for a moment. He had appeared in mid-air and slowly lowered himself to the floor with one, two flaps of his wings. They were covered in bright white feathers that looked carved from ice, filling the silence of the room with a soft tinkling as the feathers bumped and slid over one another. He flared them out once for the sake of dramatics before tucking them up against his back. His tail gave one slow flick behind him, fine, icy scales sliding over each other with the movement. He shifted, clasping his hands together behind his back with a soft jingle from the bangles on his wrists. Hells, but they were cumbersome. And to think some of his kind _actually_ dressed this way all the time.

               Cloud had readied his best imposing voice, but faltered when he actually looked at the human who summoned him. It was still a _child_. What was a _boy_ doing summoning him? How did a child manage to force of will required to summon him at all? He was used to older humans, the youngest who had previously succeeded being in her upper thirties. This one had to be… what, fifteen, sixteen? But the hardened look in his eyes made him look older than his years.

               “What have you summoned me for, child?” Cloud said in his iciest tone, covering any surprise with imperiousness. The haughtiness was expected. He’d learned centuries ago that anything less than the utmost gravitas underwhelmed and disappointed humans, who had a very, very strange concept of what demons were like when they weren’t making contracts or collecting their dues.

               There was a twitch of irritation on the boy’s face, clearly not liking being addressed as he had been. There was a matching twitch of Cloud’s lips, hinting at an amusement he quickly buried. Gravitas, he had to remember the gravitas.

               “I want to make a deal,” he said. His tone was sharp and matched the age in his eyes, but his voice was still high, having yet to shake the last of its childishness.

               “I rather expect so,” he said. Hells, it sounded so stiff. He wanted to kill whatever pompous asshole had set this ridiculous standard for demon-to-human interaction that the rest of them were left to follow. He squashed the exasperation. It would do him no good.

               “I want to know the stakes before we agree to anything,” the boy said, shifting into a pose that mirrored Cloud’s, and it seemed to ground him.

               Cloud had needed force to bury the exasperation deep, but the rising curiosity came with no effort at all.

               He approached slowly, ice crunching beneath his bare feet as he went. The child seemed to take it as a challenge, staring him down, refusing to be cowed. Cloud stopped when he reached the edge of the sigil, the limits of the cage that bound him for now. He grinned slowly.

               “I think you already know the stakes,” he said softly, grin widening just a hair as he watched the boy try to suppress a shiver.

               “My soul, then?” he said. His voice was curt and emotionless, much like the stoic mask on his face. An interesting demeanor in one so young.

               “Likely,” Cloud agreed. “Though there’s room for negotiation. What would you ask of me, little one?”

               Again, that twitch of irritation. This time, Cloud let his amusement show, and it did nothing to soothe the child’s temper.

               “Your help,” he said. “I need a teacher, a second set of eyes and hands, someone to watch my back. Someone to train with who can keep up with me. Your knowledge.”

               Cloud blinked in surprise, the façade slipping.

               “You want me to… be your servant?” he asked, so sincerely surprised that he forgot to sound predatory.

               The human shrugged and said, “If you want to phrase it that way.”

               There was a long pause, and then a laugh. A long laugh, one that should have sounded mocking, or at least menacing, but was only amused. Cloud laughed longer than he intended to, still smiling when he sighed after.

               Considering that the pretense had already been dropped, Cloud didn’t bother to put it back up. Besides, it sounded like he was in for a long contract, and there was no way he could play “scary demon” for years.

               Cloud dropped his weight into one hip and folded his arms over his chest, head tilted to the side as he looked the other up and down.

               “You know, there are _many_ other classes of demon that would work better, if you want a pet. Strife demons have their name for a reason.”

               It was the boy’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

               “I’m well aware. Do you think I picked the first summoning ritual I saw and intended to just hope for the best?”

               “You wouldn’t be the first.”

               The child blinked in surprise, and then shook his head with a look of distaste.

               “I’m not a fool. If my soul is on the line, I intended to get everything from this that I can.”

               “And a strife demon can help you best?”

               The human shifted, his chin lifting, shoulders back, spine just a little taller. He’d presented himself with more of a level head already than Cloud was accustomed to seeing when summoned, but this confidence was different. Whether he just _was_ that confident in himself or felt he had something to prove was still up for debate.

               “I’m being sent off to war.”

               He was distinctly underwhelmed.

               The boy didn’t seem to like the unimpressed look on his face.

               “Kid, if every soldier sold his soul to get through a war, the Hells would be empty.”

               The little soldier pressed his lips into a thin line in irritation.

               “There are other circumstances, which we can discuss if you accept the deal.”

               He did have some sense, then. Giving more details than necessary to an unbound demon was an easy way to get into trouble.

               This was a dilemma. Despite what humans told each other, demons weren’t forced to accept a contract just because they were summoned. He had to answer the call, yes, and he couldn’t leave the sigil on this plane while the human who summoned him lived, but it would be a simple matter to return to Hell and wait for the human to die. There were many, many reasons why he should accept—what his superior would have to say about it, the amount of souls in his possession, the amount of souls he _needed_ in his possession, his debts, his own hunger. But he had other affairs in the Hells that required his attention, other work-arounds for his issues, and the sheer fact that this contract would be a pain in the ass.

               But the little human was interesting, and maybe it was time for him to stay topside for a while—to see what the hype was about. There were demons scrambling for contracts just to stay here, and Cloud had never understood it.

               The deciding moment for Cloud was when he remembered the mountain of paperwork sitting on his desk.

               He was in no rush to return home.

               “So, to be clear, you want me to assist you in any way you might need in exchange for your soul,” Cloud said.

               “Yes.”

               “And when would this contract end?” Cloud asked.

               “When I no longer have need of you.”

               Cloud clicked his tongue and looked away in irritation, dropping his arms from where they had been folded.

               “That is absolutely indeterminate, and something you could draw out for—” Cloud paused. He remembered the teetering tower of paperwork. He changed his mind. “You know what? That’s my concern.”

               The little soldier watched him with a furrowed line of confusion between his brows as he watched the demon backtrack. The look turned into one of surprise as, with a lazy wave of his hand, Cloud produced a dimly glowing scroll. The sheet hovered in space for a moment before the demon plucked it from the air and handed it out to the boy, each movement accompanied by the faint, musical tinkle and rattle of bracelets and bangles. The child took the contract with a wary look before beginning to read it closely.

               Cloud took the opportunity to inspect his summoner. He didn’t remember humans having silver hair or slit pupils, and he didn’t think they had eyes quite so green. He was relatively sure that human eyes didn’t glow. But, now that he knew what to look for, he could faintly see how his outfit might be a uniform. A ridiculous one (why make a sweater just to remove the sleeves?), but one that seemed like it would function. Or at least, the belt with an insignia and those sturdy boots leant the ensemble a vague uniform look; the rest was just poor fashion taste. Perhaps he should have gathered the human was a soldier by the sword he wore, but once that had been a common custom, though Cloud couldn’t quite remember what century that had been. Still, the weapon looked over-large, and while he had seen many similar ones before, he didn’t think humans were capable of wielding them. And there was _something_ in the bracer on his arm and the hilt of his blade that looked almost enchanted, but that couldn’t be right. He remembered seeing a proposal centuries ago to give humans access to magic, but he was _sure_ that had been shot down.

               This entire situation was a riddle, and one Cloud would savor; immortality was often painfully boring.

               Having been watching closely, Cloud noticed when the human finished reading, and with another flick of his wrist, produced a quill. It appeared like one of his own feathers, like it was carved from ice, but it wasn’t cold in the boy’s grasp.

               “Is there ink?” the human asked, looking at the quill as if he didn’t know what to do with it.

               “No, the contract has to be signed in your own blood—it will pull from you.”

               The soldier looked up sharply.

               There was a beat, and then Cloud laughed again.

               “Hells, I didn’t think that one would work,” he said, still grinning. “Of course there’s ink, just write.”

               There was that sour little twist of the lips again, but the human looked down and signed regardless. When he handed the contract back over, Cloud glanced at it. He did a double take. He held the sheet back out.

               “Full name.”

               “That is my full name.”

               Cloud blinked slowly in a dead-pan.

               “I may not be human, but I understand your naming conventions.”

               “The only name I was ever given was Sephiroth,” the boy—no, _Sephiroth_ said, and if the sharpness of his tone was anything to go by, that was a sore point. “You wanted my name. You have it.”

               Cloud carefully didn’t explain that giving a name was an entirely different conversation and contract, and arguably a more serious one.

               Sephiroth held out the quill as Cloud rolled the scroll up, only for it to fall away to ash in his hand. He looked down at it in surprise, and when he looked back up, the demon was watching him expectantly.

               “Well?” Cloud said. “You want to let me out?”

               Sephiroth paused, and then nodded, and moved off to the side table where he’d left the book he found the instructions for the ritual in. Cloud waved his hand dismissively.

               “The ending instructions are a waste of time and irrelevant to the situation—I’m bound to you, you have nothing to fear from me until it’s time for me to collect. Just scratch out one of the lines.” When Sephiroth hesitated, narrowing his eyes warily, Cloud rolled his and said, “The whole point of your contract is for me to help you. Let me help you save us both time and just scratch out a line.”

               Though the human was unwilling to concede that he had a point, he found a spot that wasn’t covered by the ice that accompanied Cloud’s (admittedly dramatic) entrance and wiped away the chalk with the toe of his boot.

               The candles around the sigil all blew out at once, the ice giving one resounding crack as power shot through it before melting all at once.

               Cloud groaned in relief, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms above his head, his wings out to the side, and his tail down to a point. While he hated being caged like that, nothing felt quite as good as being freed.

               He looked up, surprised to find that Sephiroth was still tracking his every movement, even in the sudden darkness. Cloud was _sure_ humans had no real night vision, and it was pitch black in the room. Another question—they were starting to pile up.

               “Let’s go, then,” Cloud said, leaving the sigil, purposefully kicking over a candle on his way out. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”

               Sephiroth fell in step with him, but watched him with confusion.

               “It shouldn’t be _that_ much explaining.”

               “Kid, I don’t know much about the human world nowadays,” Cloud admitted.

               Sephiroth pinched the bridge of his nose and said, “Perhaps I picked the wrong demon.”

               “You didn’t,” he assured. “We just have some… cultural differences for me to catch up on.”

               Speaking of cultural differences. Cloud was both relieved and very _not_ relieved to shed the last of the pretense, disappearing the jewelry and finery that he always felt uncomfortable in, but also vanishing his wings and tail. Those would start to cramp before long. He fashioned his new clothes after Sephiroth’s, matching his uniform to better fit in.

               “ _Cultural_ differ—”

               Cloud stopped and looked at Sephiroth because the boy had stopped, staring at him oddly.

               “What?” he asked, only for the human to shake his head and begin walking again.

               “Nothing, I just—wasn’t expecting it,” he admitted, as if it cost him something.

               “Expect the unexpected, isn’t that what you humans say?” Cloud said. “Besides, if I couldn’t do a few tricks, you wouldn’t have summoned me.”

               That little down-twist of lips again.

               When they got to the door to the room, Cloud opened it and stepped aside, gesturing Sephiroth forward.

               “After you, _master_.”

               It should have been sinister. It should have been oily, a hiss, something to send a shiver down the spine. It should have been a threat, accompanied by the sort of sneer that was more snarl, more primal, dangerous baring of teeth than anything.

               Instead, it came with a mocking lilt and a shit-eating grin.

               Sephiroth went through the door and wondered, for the first time, if this might have been a bad idea.


	2. Chapter 2

               “Humans love to blame us for their problems, but the things you do to each other are at _least_ just as bad.”

               Sephiroth’s story was wild. At the end of it, Cloud was more impressed than anything; President Shinra and Hojo would have gotten multiple promotions for their work, had they been demons. He knew a human would have looked shocked or horrified with the story, but Sephiroth seemed almost relieved not to see that look. He hadn’t been expecting it from a demon, not really, but the thought of pity had been what he was truly dreading.

               They were in Sephiroth’s apartment, which was sparkling clean and entirely devoid of any individuality. From what the boy had said, it had only been given to him a few days ago, though, so it wasn’t particularly surprising. The couches they were sitting on were made of stiff black leather that also spoke to a lack of use. Sephiroth sat with perfect posture, his hands folded in his lap, with the sort of perfect presentation that Cloud was gathering had been drilled into him from a very young age. Cloud was sitting cross-legged, one elbow on one knee, cheek resting on his knuckles as he listened. Though he could last an extended period of time, Cloud had released his wings and tail again to avoid cramping, since it had been a long, long while since he needed to hide them. He was leaning forward to give his wings room to rest folded against his back, his tail curled around his hips with the pointed tip resting in his lap, flicking occasionally.

               Sephiroth shrugged at his condemnation of humanity, seeing no reason to defend the situation.

               “Well,” Cloud said, leaning both of his elbows on his knees. “I’ll go with you as your second in command. I’ll be a SOLDIER First, that’s obvious, we have to explain physical ability somehow and I don’t think they’d put anyone who _wasn’t_ in any position of power. You said the war is here, right?”

               Cloud pointed at Wutai on the map, glancing up at Sephiroth for confirmation.

               “That’s correct.”

               “Where were the SOLDIERs stationed before it started?”

               Sephiroth hummed briefly, reaching out to point at the map as Cloud withdrew his hand.

               “There’s been conflict all over; Shinra’s still consolidating power. The cities are held well, but the areas of wilderness and little outposts are taking more time. The jungles in Mideel and the mountains of the Western Continent have been an issue, but the Northern Continent has been the biggest problem. It’s not very inhabited, but the environment has given the natives an advantage that has proven to be… inconvenient.”

               Cloud tapped his finger against his knee for a few seconds before shrugging.

               “I _do_ like the cold,” Cloud admitted before leaning back. “A commander from the north, then. The soldiers in Wutai won’t like someone new transferring into any high position, but they’ll take it better if they’ve proven themselves already. Your biggest problems will be that you’re young and inexperienced. You can beat them in a fight, we both know that, but until you’ve got some big wins under your belt, that won’t matter.”

               “We still have a few problems,” Sephiroth said.

               “Like?”

               “Like the fact that you aren’t a commander from the north,” he said with a frown. “And you don’t look any older than I do.”

               Cloud waved his hand dismissively.

               “Forging some documents and altering some memories is simple. And looking young can help—two prodigal commanders, one brought in for combat ability, one brought in for success in the north. We’ll be a set and people will just chalk it up to kids wanting to be around someone their age instead of questioning why we’re together all the time.”

               “You just don’t want to look old, do you?” Sephiroth said, raising one eyebrow.

               “ _Sephiroth_ ,” Cloud said with a gasp, touching his chest with a look of offense. “I’m _hurt_. Do I seem that shallow to you?”

               “You’re a demon,” Sephiroth said.

               “You can’t lump us all together, you know,” Cloud sniffed.

               Sephiroth frowned, saying, “You lump humans together all the time.”

               “You _are_ all pretty much the same.”

               “That’s hypocr—you’re trying to distract me, aren’t you?”

               Cloud offered him a grin that Sephiroth was already coming to dislike.

               “Quicker on the draw than most humans,” Cloud said with approval that was almost smug.

               “You haven’t answered the question,” Sephiroth said, unimpressed and not flattered.

               “It wasn’t a particularly good _or_ interesting one, in my defense.”

               “You’re deflecting. It isn’t unhelpful for you to look young, but there are at least equal merits for you looking older. I want to know your reasoning.”

               Cloud watched him closely for a second, tilting his head. It hadn’t been intended as a test, but it served as one. It was an irrelevant detail, but it spoke well of Sephiroth’s training that he picked up on it at all. He was even more relieved that the human had been willing to call him on it. This would be both boring and tedious if he was so cowed or so trusting that he wouldn’t question him.

               “If I were vain, I would still be sitting here decked out as obnoxious and gaudy as you can imagine. This is what I look like naturally. I’m doing enough performing as is, and since it won’t cause any harm, I’m keeping my shape.”

               The previous comment hadn’t been a test, but this was distinctly a challenge.

               True to form, Sephiroth pulled himself up taller and folded his arms over his chest, looking imperious.

               “And if I order you to?” he said, all unearned disdain that served as a very flimsy front.

               For the first time, the grin Cloud gave him had a truly dangerous edge. His fangs had always been there, but they looked truly wicked now.

               “Oh, little human,” Cloud said, low and sneering.

               For the first time, Sephiroth was afraid. It ran slick down his spine and sat like ice in his stomach. It took everything in him to not give more than the quickest wince, collecting himself quickly.

               “What,” Sephiroth snapped, voice like a whip-crack.

               Cloud leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and though the smile dropped, he still looked predatory. There wasn’t a line of tension in his body, distinctly not the snake rearing up to strike. A pressure rolled off of him like waves, a heavy, oppressive aura, and the looseness in every last muscle spoke more loudly than any clenched fist could have.

               “Our contract grants you many things, from my help to my knowledge to my loyalty. But it says nothing about my obedience.”

               Cloud watched as, for the first time, Sephiroth’s mask of confidence truly slipped. It looked shocked, then furious that he had missed such a detail. When he grinned again, it was amusement instead of a threat.

               The demon leaned back, shifting to rest his hands loose and easy on his knees. The tension in the room dissipated, his head tilted to the side, smile turning almost proud as Sephiroth mastered himself.

               “Before you panic,” Cloud said, holding a hand up and interrupting Sephiroth before he could speak, “you still have nothing to fear from me. We are bound; when it comes to you, I’m toothless. I can’t raise a hand to you, and you’re no good to me injured or dead. Your goals are my goals. I can’t collect until you don’t need me anymore, remember?”

               Sephiroth’s brow was furrowed in confusion when he said, “Then why?”

               “Because I’m not your dog, Sephiroth. I won’t be bound to your every beck and call or be made to dance around for your whims. You’re my master in name only. For all intents and purposes, we’re partners until this contract ends.”

               Sephiroth was clearly not pleased, but a look of understanding settled on his face. He had been under the Science Department’s boot-heel and kept in a cage for too long not to understand the sentiment behind that.

               When Cloud saw the acceptance on his face, he nodded and clapped his hands together.

               “So! No, I’m not going to look crusty, but it won’t be a problem. As your second in command, they’ll still give me responsibilities, so we can’t be together all the time. That being said, I can advise you while making battle plans and we’ll at least have two competent commanders even if we’re separated. I can help with training both you and other soldiers—we should be at the same camps still.”

               Surprisingly, now that the fear had passed and there was the mutual understanding between them, Sephiroth seemed to relax. A line of tension that had been in his shoulders the entire time eased and his hands unfolded from where they were tightly clasped in his lap. This was still new, and there was still some apprehension, some formality, but there was no way it could last forever with how often they’d be around each other, and it was starting to lessen.

               “That was another question I had,” Sephiroth said, tone at ease instead of being forced calm. “Have you actually been in a war before?”

               Cloud looked at him like he had three heads—or suddenly had three heads, maybe. He’d probably seen beings with three heads before and wouldn’t have looked as surprised at that.

               “I’m a demon,” he said, as if that explained everything.

               “… I’m aware.”

               “I’m from _the Hells_. Of course I’ve been in a war before,” Cloud said, baffled that he’d been asked and almost affronted at the implication.

               Sephiroth frowned and said, “I’m not exactly familiar with the political climate of the Hells.”

               Cloud blinked and then shrugged, knowing it was fair, but remained a little surprised at the question. Humans truly knew nothing of demons, yet they were consistently willingly to hand off their souls to them. He would never understand.

               With the point conceded, Sephiroth continued, saying, “Have you been in command in a war before?”

               This time, Cloud was _absolutely_ affronted at the implication.

               “If I was the sort of insignificant weakling that stayed a foot-soldier all their life, no human would have ever heard my name, much _less_ put in the time and effort to learn how to not only summon me but summon me _safely_.”

               Sephiroth knew next to nothing about the Hells, didn’t realize that the question was actually a very serious insult, but he was coming to understand that Cloud wouldn’t be the only one dealing with cultural differences.

               For one of the first times in his life, Sephiroth swallowed his pride, and said, “I apologize.” He had the distinct feeling that leaving Cloud angry with him was a bad idea.

               The offense smoothed from Cloud’s face, and he seemed back to his usual, strangely pleasant mood. For a demon, he seemed to forgive easily.

               Sephiroth didn’t realize that Cloud let it slide because he couldn’t begrudge a human their stupidity.

               Cloud leaned back, his wings shifting up and out just enough that they wouldn’t be squished awkwardly. His hands moved to rest between his legs, his tail curling absently around his right wrist.

               “I doubt you have access to all the weapons that are available in Hell, and that’ll make a difference, but my experience will carry over well enough. Besides, you’re not being shipped out right away, right?” Cloud asked.

               “No,” Sephiroth said, unsure of where this was going. “We have a month.”

               “Plenty of time. You skimmed over the details, but I’ll pick your brain about weaponry. And what technology and magic you all have. And I’ll need most of the reading materials you can get your hands on.”

               Sephiroth rubbed his temple.

               “Reading materials?”

               Cloud tapped the tip of his tail against his wrist.

               “I know a lot, Sephiroth. A _lot_. But the last time I was on this plane for more than a few days was centuries ago, and I’ve been busy since. I’ll be more helpful if I know everything I can about this world.”

               “I don’t exactly have a book collection,” Sephiroth said, brow furrowed. It was something he was interested in, books having been one of his few joys in the labs, but he hadn’t had much time and no money to invest. He’d only barely gotten his hands on the book he’d found Cloud’s summoning ritual in.

               Cloud shrugged and said, “Then point me to a library. I don’t think—well, maybe you do. Have you developed computers yet?”

               The crease in Sephiroth’s brow only grew deeper as he said, “Yes?”

               Cloud blinked in surprise, but seemed pleased.

               “Do you have a… how to put it… collective information….”

               “Yes, Cloud, we have the internet.”

               “Oh thank Hells,” Cloud breathed. “Point me to a library and give me a computer and I’ll take care of the research myself.”

               “Research? Aren’t you a strife demon?”

               The relief on Cloud’s face turned into irritation.

               “Did that book you found have _any_ description of what a strife demon actually is?” Cloud asked, folding his arms over his chest.

               “It said that strife demons are the most fearsome devils in the Hells,” Sephiroth answered.

               Cloud raised an eyebrow, saying, “Flattering, but unhelpful.”

               “Apparently.”

               Cloud sighed and ruffled his hair in what seemed an oddly human gesture.

               “Doesn’t matter. The point is, I can handle the research,” he said, almost sounding tired.

               Sephiroth was burning to ask. He always hated being ignorant, and he could tell how little he knew about Hell and demons would be nothing but a point of friction between them. He wanted to know, but it didn’t seem like Cloud wanted to talk about it. He didn’t know if it was because he didn’t want to talk about the Hells or if it was strife demons in particular he didn’t want to discuss, but he wasn’t going to push his luck.

               “A month isn’t a very long time to research the culture of an entire _world_ ,” Sephiroth said, intentionally changing the topic and hoping it wasn’t too blatant.

               Apparently it wasn’t, or at the very least the question was distracting, because Cloud looked at him in confusion.

               “It shouldn’t take more than a week or two. Maybe three, if we’re busy,” he said, still baffled.

               Sephiroth blinked slowly.

               “A week,” Sephiroth said.

               “A week,” Cloud agreed.

               “A _week_?” he pressed.

               “Either humans are very bad at searching for things or take a very, very long time to read,” he said slowly.

               “By your standards, likely both,” Sephiroth said before shifting forward and putting his hands on his knees. “Well, I’ll help you with your research come tomorrow morning. It’s,” Sephiroth paused, checking his PHS, “almost three in the morning.”

               Cloud looked at him, uncomprehending at first, until he said, “Oh! Oh, right, right, sleep, you do that every night, right. Where’s your computer? I’ll get started while you do that.”

               Sephiroth climbed to his feet, Cloud following suit. His wings shifted, folding tight against his back again, and Sephiroth was sure it would always be distracting.

               “It’s on the table,” Sephiroth said as he made his way back toward his bedroom, nodding toward his dining table as he passed. Cloud, who had been following him, stopped and, after a moment, sighed in relief.

               “Thank Hells, a laptop,” he said as he crossed to the table. “Not as bad as I was expecting.”

               Refusing to address that, Sephiroth called, “Good night, Cloud.”

               He paused in the doorway just long enough to see Cloud walking back toward the couches with the laptop in his hands, the lid open, his eyes focused on it as he began turning the laptop on.

               “Good night, Sephiroth,” he called.

               He prepared himself for bed slowly and a little reluctantly, despite how tired he was. He was never one to fall asleep quickly, and he didn’t know how long this situation would keep him up. Their contract prevented Cloud from being a threat, but he was still dangerous. He doubted he would be able to relax enough with the demon’s presence weighing over the area.

               He assumed he was just that exhausted, not that he might feel safe with Cloud around, as he passed easily into sleep while listening to Cloud curse at his laptop.


	3. Chapter 3

               True to his word, it took Cloud nine days to finish his research. During those days, Sephiroth could hardly get three words out of him. Every time he tried, Cloud asked him if what he wanted to talk about was mandatory, and immediately went back to ignoring him when he said no. The demon had taken up residence on his couch, fingers plucking away at the keyboard incessantly. He must have been gleaning something, but he was typing and clicking so often that it seemed more like he was writing and flipping through windows than researching. The only time the laptop was set aside was for him to rifle through the growing pile of books next to him, which he flipped through impossibly quick. Every time Sephiroth returned, the stack was made up of different texts, though he never saw Cloud move to get new ones, and he had no idea where they had come from in the first place.

               Sephiroth had been in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee on the morning of the ninth day when Cloud slapped the laptop shut. He looked up, seeing the demon stand and lean back, stretching his arms, wings, and tail out as far as they would go. When he was done, he tilted his head from side to side, stretching his neck, before rolling his shoulders. Eventually, he turned to look at Sephiroth, who was still watching with interest, as he hadn’t seen the other move in days.

               “You found what you needed, I take it?” Sephiroth asked.

               “As much as I’ll get from reading, anyway,” Cloud answered, approaching the table and resting his hands on the back of the chair across from Sephiroth. He tapped his claws against it.

               “What exactly did you end up researching?” Sephiroth said before taking another sip of his coffee.

               “Enough,” was all Cloud said on the matter before deflecting. “Though I still can’t believe they gave you materia.”

               “I thought materia came from the planet, not demons.”

               Cloud shrugged and said, “The planet produces a conduit that allows you access to magic, which demons have naturally. Someone must have pushed through the proposal to let you have it.”

               Sephiroth sighed and took a longer drink of his coffee. The way Cloud casually mentioned huge truths and dropped tantalizing hints at the Hells would drive him mad. Perhaps that was the intent.

               “Regardless. We can move on, then?”

               “Someone’s in a hurry,” Cloud teased, but continued before Sephiroth could protest. “We’re going to go spar so I know what you can do. Tonight, I’m going to do some errands: memory altering and forging some documents, enough to make my story believable. Then we’re going to spend the rest of the time before we ship out training in combat and battle strategy.”

               In any other circumstance, being told he needed a crash course in what he had spent his entire life studying would have been sure to make him lose his temper. But Cloud was an ancient being who had been fighting for, what, centuries? Millennia? The prospect of training under him filled him with excitement. He’d long since run out of people who could teach him anything, and the prospect of actually learning again made him itch for a training room.

               Cloud, for his part, was both relieved and a little excited himself to see the look on Sephiroth’s face and the gleam in his eyes. He had trained many, many people in his day, but he couldn’t remember the last time someone was looking forward to learning from him.

               That being said, neither the spar nor training went the way either thought.

               Cloud had expected more from Sephiroth. He had seen videos of human fighters, knew the average strength and speed, even knew the highest SOLDIER strength and speed. But the boy was supposed to be _the best_ , the pinnacle of human achievement, and Cloud had been able to do more as a child. He had been looking forward to a fun spar, but found that he had to temper his speed and pull his blows far more than he had expected.

               Sephiroth had expected worse treatment from Cloud. He _was_ a demon, despite his general good mood and lack of malevolence. But Cloud was patient and strangely gentle. He never came away from a spar with a single bruise. He remembered more than once in the labs when he’d been pushed so hard he vomited or collapsed, but training with Cloud just left him pleasantly sore, not even bad enough that they couldn't continue training the next day.

               It took him time to adjust to Cloud’s style of teaching. He was used to being shouted at from across a room and shown instructional pictures and videos. Cloud spoke softly and answered the questions that took time for him to even dare asking. He tended to correct him physically, using gentle touches to fix his form and shift his stance. He demonstrated readily and, when that failed, guided Sephiroth through the motions with his hands. It was strangely intimate, though both Sephiroth and Cloud refused to acknowledge it, Sephiroth telling himself this must just be how demons did things, Cloud thinking that he had to be gentle with the human or he’d break him.

               Their only real point of contention was Cloud’s sword. The demon refused to let him touch it, no matter how many times he asked. At first he said it was enchanted and that it would hurt a human, but he had tapped Sephiroth with it plenty of times while they sparred, so he knew that wasn’t true. Then he said Sephiroth would break it, but it withstood the demon’s strength, so he knew that also wasn’t true. Then Cloud outright told him no and refused to say why.

               Sephiroth would have been interested regardless. He was a swordsman, and the chance to examine a demon’s blade wasn’t one he’d likely ever get outside of this contract. But the sword was fascinating in its own right. It wasn’t one sword but several, the blades interlocking with some sort of mechanism he couldn’t decipher from a distance. He wanted to push, but he had learned quickly that Cloud might be the most stubborn person had ever or would ever come across. Though he no longer felt like the demon was a potential threat to him (likely a problem in and of itself), he still found himself unwilling to leave Cloud mad at him.

               Their time training came to a close too quick. He had been dreading the day they would be sent out, both because he was nervous for what would come and because he didn’t want this time to end. These had been the best few weeks of his life. He told himself it was just the joy of being out of the labs, but he knew in his gut that wasn’t true. It was because of Cloud. It was the way the demon had so much to teach him, the way he was gentle in a way no one had ever been with Sephiroth before, the way he wasn’t afraid of him like everyone else seemed to be. He didn’t like being talked down to, and sometimes Cloud would do that, but he did like the lack of formality, the way Cloud was casual and joking with him.

               Despite the cultural differences that had them continuously stepping on each other’s toes, they got along well. Cloud was still learning all the little ways human limitations affected a day, and bemoaned the amount of time Sephiroth spent eating and sleeping and grooming. Sephiroth was still learning touchy subjects, like the sword and what strife demons really were and what Cloud actually _did_ while he was in Hell. Cloud swore he would figure out this human thing and told himself it was so he wouldn’t slip in his performance and not because he disliked making Sephiroth uncomfortable by insisting he skip what were apparently necessities. Sephiroth swore he would figure out the demon matter and told himself it was because this contract would be difficult if he kept causing tension and not because he didn’t like seeing the smile fall from Cloud’s face.

               But their few weeks couldn’t last forever, and eventually they were in a tiny plane, flying toward Wutai.

               “This thing flies so _slow_ ,” Cloud complained, slumping low in his seat, tilting his head back against it. It was a good thing they were alone in the cabin.

               “And your wings would be faster?” Sephiroth asked. Cloud’s comment hadn’t been a conversation starter, but Sephiroth needed a distraction.

               “If I were flying, we’d be there already,” he said, lifting his head just enough to look at the human.

               Sephiroth snorted, not in disbelief (he knew better), but because he should have expected as much, despite the fact that they’d only been in the air for half an hour. He looked out the window, avoiding the way that Cloud’s eyes narrowed, watching him closely.

               “Quit worrying. I can hear you working yourself into knots from here,” Cloud said.

               Sephiroth looked over at him with an indignant frown.

               “I’m not worrying.”

               “You’re absolutely worrying. I can smell it.”

               That gave Sephiroth pause.

               He narrowed his eyes, waiting for Cloud’s telltale grin to tell him that this was another instance of the demon pulling one over on him. Instead, Cloud just blinked and raised his eyebrows.

               “You can _smell_ it?” he asked.

               Cloud blinked again, slowly this time, and said, “Of course I can smell it. You’re so anxious the birds outside can probably smell it.”

               Sephiroth scowled, disliking the idea that Cloud knew just how nervous he was, and then blanched. Had Cloud been able to smell his emotions the entire time? Was it only when it was a strong emotion, or had he been able to tell every one of his little moods since they’d met? He turned to look back out the window, unable to get the idea out of his head but unwilling to actually ask, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

               The silence would have lasted, had Cloud not reached out and kicked his chair.

               “Stop sulking and talk to me. This is going to be boring if we sit in silence the whole time,” he said. Whether it was truly to avoid boredom or distract Sephiroth, the human didn’t know and the demon refused to think closely enough to tell.

               It worked, though, as Sephiroth sighed and looked back over, crossing his arms.

               “You’re immortal; what’s a few hours of silence to you?” Sephiroth challenged.

               “The worst thing about immortality is boredom,” Cloud admitted. When Sephiroth looked surprised, he shrugged and continued. “Sure, a few hours isn’t much when you’ve lived as long as I have, but after a certain point, things get old. You can only do the same thing so many times before you get tired of it, and I’ve spent more than my fair share of time sitting in silence.”

               Sephiroth hesitated, unsure if he should press, but Cloud wanted to talk. It was worth a shot.

               “More than your fair share in comparison to humans or to most demons?” he asked, and he knew the answer from the way Cloud’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit. It was a detail the demon didn’t mean to give and one he wasn’t supposed to pick up on.

               But, Cloud had started it. The question was fair.

               “Both,” he said.

               The way he refused to move, still slouched and relaxed in his seat, was purposeful, and both of them knew it. This was the first real admission of anything personal that Cloud had given. There was a certain vulnerability in that, and the demon was intent on making sure that it seemed as if it didn’t matter to him. Maybe it really didn’t, but the way he had refused to answer questions before made Sephiroth relatively certain it did.

               “Why is that?” Sephiroth pressed, sitting up just a little straighter. He had been interested in finding out more about the demon since they’d met, but had never made any headway.

               Cloud hesitated just a moment too long for it to be convincing that this didn’t matter to him.

               “Prison is quiet,” he said. His voice was low, but it gave away nothing. From someone whose tone was joking or mocking or teasing or smug but never dead, it was telling.

               “Prison?” Sephiroth asked, expecting to be shut down. He hadn’t expected to get this far as is.

               Cloud paused again. This had gone further than he intended. He had planned on distracting Sephiroth, yes, but not at the expense of his secrets. Still, it did nothing but irritate him that Sephiroth knew so little about demons. The boy wouldn’t learn unless Cloud taught him. Maybe he should stop being so cagey.

               “How did demons come to be, Sephiroth?” Cloud asked, shifting. He crossed his ankle over his knee, purposefully blunted fingernails tapping against the armrests of his seat. He was no longer slouching out of boredom, but reclined and intent.

               “The stories say they were angels who rebelled against the gods and were cast out,” he said, voice quieter, hushed with the seriousness of the conversation.

               “Mostly true,” Cloud said. “What happens to the soldiers of the losing side of a war?”

               “They’re killed, captured, or sent home if they surrender,” Sephiroth said.

               “And if their home won’t take them back?” Cloud asked.

               Sephiroth knew the answer. They would be killed or kept as prisoners until they eventually died. He didn’t answer. He held Cloud’s gaze in silence, noticing the way the demon had stopped blinking, the way he only did when he was serious.

               “The gods like to think themselves merciful. They didn’t kill or torture or enslave those they caught or who surrendered. They were held until the Hells were built, when they were exiled, but entire worlds aren’t built overnight.”

               Sephiroth’s stomach turned. He didn’t know how long Cloud was kept in a cell, but his dislike for silence and idleness was clearly justified. He could have asked how long he was there. He could have asked what the prison was like, or what the war was like, or what the Hells were like when they were first created.

               Instead, he asked, “Did you surrender?”

               He knew by now that Cloud wasn’t an angry being, but his temper burned white-hot when his patience ran out. He expected the flare of it, the way irritation would carve deep lines in his face as it twisted, the way he would bare his teeth in anger.

               He hadn’t expected Cloud’s face to soften and turn sad.

               “No, Sephiroth. No I didn’t.”

               The surprise must have been evident on his face, because Cloud sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before looking back up, for once looking as old as he was.

               “I knew there would be no real mercy. They wouldn’t kill anyone who surrendered, we all knew that, but they weren’t going to let what happened go. Our insolence galled them and, by that point, the body count was too high for them to just forgive us. If I was going to be punished anyway, I had no intention of going quietly.”

               He didn’t know what to say. There was nothing _to_ say. Eventually, Cloud tired of their staring contest. He tapped his fingers against the armrest, nails clicking against the metal, and then uncrossed his legs to sit upright.

               “Learn from that, Sephiroth,” he said, voice soft. “Always honor your enemy, and remember that sometimes, that means killing them. If you have no real mercy to offer, don’t accept surrender. It’s no kindness.”

               There were a thousand things to say and nothing came to Sephiroth’s lips. There was an admission to suffering, there. A tiredness. The ancient eyes of one who had seen too much.

               “Cloud, I—”

               “Anyway, I hope you actually studied those maps I gave you; it’s quiz time. Pull them out,” Cloud said, and suddenly, the spell broke. He was animated and chipper again, without any hint that there had been a single serious discussion the entire day, much less moments ago. When Sephiroth sat up straighter and blinked with whiplash instead of moving, Cloud clapped twice. “Come on, we don’t have all day, kid.”

               “Don’t call me kid,” Sephiroth said automatically. It was enough to snap him out of it, getting him to reach down for his pack and pull out the maps. He shifted forward in his seat and held one out in the space between them as Cloud also scooted forward in his seat.

               He began quizzing Sephiroth on troop positions and geographic formations. Any time he paused, looking up to scan Cloud’s face, to search him for some hint of what he’d seen before, the demon would snap his fingers in Sephiroth’s face and point back to the map. He had no choice but to let the matter drop.

               While Sephiroth was answering, Cloud watched him closely, letting that strange softness steal over his face while the boy’s eyes were trained down on the map. He hadn’t shared the truth to see that look of sadness, of sympathy on Sephiroth’s face and, honestly, wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Before he made any real progress unravelling the turn of events or how he felt about it, Sephiroth would finish answering his question and look up again. Every time, he wiped that expression off his face and continued asking the pointless questions until Sephiroth was properly distracted. It was something he could tease apart while Sephiroth was sleeping.

               At least it would give him something to do at night, so he wouldn’t be left alone in the silent stillness with nothing to do but remember.


	4. Chapter 4

               “You can drop your shoulders from your ears now,” Cloud said, shutting the door behind him.

               “Fuck,” Sephiroth breathed as he dropped into a chair, exhausted.

               Cloud raised his eyebrows, looking impressed when he said, “I didn’t know you even knew that word.”

               Their first day in Wutai had been long. Thanks to time zone differences, they landed with the sun in the morning and hit the ground running. They landed at Shinra’s strongest base on the southern peninsula of Wutai. They held everything below the southernmost mountain range and most of the plains to the north, but they still had to take the entire rest of the island.

               The new general and his lieutenant were introduced to the resident commanders, who greeted Sephiroth with absolute ice and Cloud not much more warmly, but with some discussion of his “military successes.” It was proving to be much as Cloud had predicted: neither of them was welcome, but Cloud was tolerated.

               Having met those in charge, they were shown around the base before they were pulled into a meeting to bring them up to speed on the situation, as if they hadn’t been updated before they left Midgar. They were going to be sent to the worst of the battlefront, which was in the mountains, citing Cloud’s successes on the Northern Continent. They had been told he won multiple battles in the mountains, so he would have experience to lead the assault; this was all directed toward Cloud, as if he was the general instead of Sephiroth. Cloud accepted it with good humor and grace, speaking with easy confidence about potential plans, which apparently exceeded expectation, because it shut the other commanders up quickly.

               Sephiroth was on his best behavior. He asked questions when he had them, spoke when spoken to, and answered anything he was asked. He was polite and almost formal, his expression giving nothing away, providing a stark contrast to Cloud. The demon was personable, but he wielded a wicked tongue, giving backhanded compliments and insulting others so politely that no one actually realized what he had meant until it was too late to say anything about it.

               The impressions they gave painted Sephiroth as the target. He was polite to a fault and had no combat experience. Cloud had victories under his belt and, while more approachable, fought back with enough spunk that it was clear he would take nothing lying down. This was what they had agreed on presenting. Cloud insisted that it would be for the best. If Sephiroth was targeted, it would give him an opportunity to fend for himself and earn respect from his troops. There was no way for Cloud to do that for him and it was best to get the growing pains over with as soon as possible. The quicker they could get past the insubordination, the better.

               That being said, it wore on Sephiroth to bite his tongue. He was able to do it; it was dangerous to backtalk the scientists in the labs, regardless of how tempting it could be. But being used to it didn’t mean he liked it, and by the time they were shown to their rooms (a suite), Sephiroth was barely containing his irritation. It left him worn out by the time he slumped into a chair when they were in private.

               Cloud patted his shoulder as he walked by, going to inspect the room. Sephiroth took a slow breath before he pushed his hair out of his face and looked up. The room was relatively large, with one chair and a couch with a coffee table between them and a TV mounted on the wall. There was a hall off to the left leading to two bedrooms and a bathroom. As it was a relatively sparse area, Cloud quickly grew bored after poking his head into each of the rooms.

               Sephiroth leaned back in his seat, watching as the demon came back and put his hands on his hips. Before Cloud could speak, Sephiroth cut him off.

               “What are you going to do about your sword?” he asked, watching as Cloud blinked in surprise.

               “What about it?” Cloud asked, brow furrowed.

               Sephiroth sat up and leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees.

               “The other commanders were already eyeing it, and they haven’t seen you wield it yet. What are you going to tell them?”

               Sephiroth watched as Cloud’s face smoothed so much it became flat, the only hint of emotion in the hardness of his eyes. He wanted to say that Cloud was just a bad liar, but he’d seen him properly perform today, and remembered the act he put on when he was first summoned. He told himself firmly that it was because it was for Cloud’s comfort that he didn’t put on as much of a (if any) front for him, that it was out of laziness, and adamantly refused to believe that it might be a sign of trust.

               “I don’t see why I have to tell them anything,” he answered, blasé enough that it was telling.

               “Cloud, you know I’m happy to respect your privacy and I have no intention of pressing you about your sword, but you’ve made it clear that you don’t like it being touched by anyone else. I doubt the others are going to respect that unless you give them a good reason,” Sephiroth said.

               Cloud paused, watching Sephiroth so closely that he almost fidgeted. His eyes roamed his face, looking for something, though Sephiroth couldn’t guess what. It lasted long enough that he sat up straight, hoping the switch was less telling than shifting in place. The moment lasted so long that he was considering changing the subject when Cloud nodded to himself, apparently satisfied. He crossed the room, pulling the blade from his back as he went. He dropped onto the couch and, much more gently, set the sword on the table.

               “I’m going to deflect with jokes until they understand that they won’t get anywhere and drop it. And they will, sooner or later,” Cloud said, and despite his words, his tone was still strangely gentle. There was tension in the line of his shoulders, in the way his palms and fingertips were pressed flat to his thighs, but his eyes were soft as he looked at the blade.

               This conversation wasn’t going the way he was expecting. He expected to be jokingly dismissed or blatantly shot down, not this sense of building tension.

               “I… suppose that will work,” he said.

               “While we were on the flight,” Cloud said, leaving Sephiroth blinking with whiplash, “I was thinking. We’ve had misunderstandings in the past few weeks because you know nothing about the Hells, but that isn’t your fault. Apparently there’s next to no _actual_ information available about them up here. By the nature of our contract, we’ll be stuck together for a while, so the way I’ve been doing things is counterproductive. I can keep getting irritated with your ignorance, or I can be upfront and educate you and save myself a headache down the road.”

               Cloud squared his shoulders and forcibly relaxed his hands before looking up at Sephiroth. The expression he gave challenged Sephiroth to question his motivations, but his eyes still held that strange softness.

               “You can ask your questions. I won’t promise to answer everything—there are some things that others would kill you for if they found out you knew, and that would void our contract. But as long as I’m able, and you aren’t just being a nosy pest, I’ll answer,” Cloud said, covering any nervousness with nonchalance and distance.

               “Your sword, then?” Sephiroth asked, watching Cloud closely for a sign that he would take it back and shut the conversation down.

               “My sword,” Cloud began, deflating just slightly. He looked back at the blade with a mix of nostalgia and sadness. “My sword is the last thing I have from Heaven. I was captured because my blade broke. The god who held me was less kind than some of the others. He blunted the shards and gave them to me as a reminder of my defeat. When I was cast out, he threw them down after me. So I took them and made them into something usable. Still the same at heart, but new.”

               The obvious comparison to himself was left unsaid. Sephiroth couldn’t say for sure if it was even an intended implication.

               Eventually, Cloud looked back up, expectant.

               “What else?” he prompted.

               Sephiroth fumbled. He had been thrown off by the story, still wanted time to mull over the details and what was hidden between the words, so he blurted out the first question that came to mind.

               “What are strife demons?”

               Cloud sighed and shut his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck.

               “Strife demons are fallen seraphim,” Cloud said with a tone of finality. There was a pause. “Shit, there’s probably not a lot of information about angels, either?”

               “I was interested in making a demon contract, so I didn’t do extended research into angels, but I doubt it,” Sephiroth answered.

               Cloud sighed again.

               “There are a lot of different kinds of angels, and the angels and the gods both live in Heaven, but there’s little contact between the gods and angels. Seraphim attend the gods, guard them, and bring their word to the other angels. They’re associated with fire—the hearth, a guiding light, purification, a weapon, you get the idea. The seraphim are like a pack. They don’t have a hive mind, but they’re so well-trained that if one thinks of something, the rest are probably thinking it too. They’re fiercely devoted to the gods—we used to call it ‘burning with love’ for them. They really commit to the fire thing.”

               Sephiroth’s brow furrowed as he listened.

               “If they’re so like-minded, did they all revolt with you?” he asked.

               He wasn’t expecting Cloud to wince.

               “No,” he said, and his voice was a little softer than before. “No, they didn’t.”

               There was a pause. This was a sore subject for Cloud. A very sore subject, and Sephiroth was beginning to get that sense. Before he was convinced, Cloud coughed and continued, voice returning to normal.

               “It took a while for word of the discontent to even reach the seraphim. We were with the gods so much and usually only spoke to the other angels to pass off messages, so we didn’t get word that angels were unhappy until tension was high. We were guards, and everyone’s first thought was about protecting the gods. But we were also messengers. We split up: some worked on defenses, some went out to talk to the angels. I was sent out to talk. The plan was to find out what the problem was and tell the gods about it, so they could smooth things over. If we could just sort things out, we wouldn’t have anything to defend _from_.”

               It was fascinating to watch Cloud talk. He started out resigned with the tale, but as he spoke, his eyes became distant. His eyes turned back to his sword, but they were so, so far off that they became glassy. He was drifting away, and it was something Sephiroth had never seen from him before.

               “The problem was humans. You were flawed and imperfect and proving to be sinful little monsters, but you were also the gods’ favorites. It was tolerated until people were being sent out to serve humans. It started with playing messenger between Heaven and Gaia, and that was tolerated too, but when orders came down to become guardians and answer prayers—prayers that _asked_ for things, instead of offering praise? That was where they drew the line. Angels have always been happy to serve the gods, it’s what we were created for. Serve imperfect creatures that went _against_ the gods out of nothing but selfishness? It was an insult.”

               As he continued, the reverse happened. He was still distant, yes, but the fog had faded. His eyes weren’t focused on the present, but they _were_ focused. His tone turned sharp, twisting with bitterness.

               “They had a point. They all wanted to ask the gods was _why_ , but word came _from_ the gods, never to them. If there was an answer, the angels would have accepted it. We—they aren’t created with a sense of pride, they have no real idea of what that is. They couldn’t understand the order. Someone—probably someone who had been around humans too long—started questioning, which had never happened before. Insubordination had never existed before. And maybe all that contact with humanity did affect the angels, because when we were created, no one would have known that it wasn’t fair. No one would have known it was an insult. We didn’t know what that was.”

               The bitterness faded back into a resignation, but it was so soft it might have been helplessness.

               “But the seraphim had their answer. We knew what the problem was, so we tried to solve it. We asked the gods why, and instead of answering, they wanted to know why we asked, and of course we told them. The angels were unhappy and wanted to know. When they asked for a list of angels who thought it wasn’t fair, we didn’t think twice. We told them. And then when they told us to kill them, we didn’t think twice. We did it.”

               Now, the helplessness was absolutely there, more acrid than sad. An anger came with it, and though it was clear he was furious with a great many people, the chief among them was himself.

               “I remember leaving after they gave us the order and looking around, and everyone looked so _casual_. Like it was just another order. Everyone readied their swords and flew off and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one so _disturbed_ , but I know I for one buried that _deep_. Everyone else acted like it was fine, so it had to be fine. It was the gods will: it must be done. There was nothing for it. I thought that if I had the thought, everyone else must have had the thought, and if everyone else accepted it blindly, I should too. We split up and I was just as calm and cool and collected as the others. Until I wasn’t.”

               Something twisted Cloud’s face, and he couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was. There was that self-loathing, and certainly the bitterness had returned, but there was also something like disgust. Like shame. His hands were now sitting atop his knees in fists.

               “It broke me. I finished my last kill and I looked at the blood on my hands and I knew I was wrong. I didn’t even know angels _could_ cry until that night. I remember scrubbing my hands to get the blood off over and over and over again until my skin was so raw that I bled. It was the other angels, not the seraphim, that put me back together. The seraphim were a _pack_. A flock. A family. I was so _sure_ that those siblings would find me and help me and that we’d figure out what to do together, the same way we always did. I only found out later that everyone else had just cleaned up and returned to the gods. They didn’t even notice the three of us that were missing weren’t there until the gods asked if we had finished with our lists yet and they didn’t have an answer.”

               His hands were shaking and his shoulders were tight. There was such a stark look of betrayal on his face that it made Sephiroth’s stomach clench in sympathy. It had been fascinating in the beginning, but it was devolving into horror. He wondered if he should put a stop to this all now, but he had no idea how.

               “The angels called it ‘the Attack of the Seraphim.’ It was what started the war in the first place. It had been the most conservative of the unhappy that had spoken to us. They trusted us and trusted the gods and we betrayed them. They said we killed the best of them. The fighting started the very same day. The discontent were led by Jenova, and she took the opportunity the second she saw it. The only reason I wasn’t killed for my part in the Attack was because she called the others off. She said that the gods refused to be merciful, and she wouldn’t stoop to their level—imagine the gall. I was terrified when I heard it, I was so sure she’d be struck down on the spot. She said that she had a place for any seraphs who regretted what they did. So the three of us went.”

               The shaking and tension had faded, but so did the pallor of Cloud’s face. There was a wry look on his face, a “what can you do” twist to his lips. The rest of the gaps were filled with self-deprecation. This was becoming a train wreck, but it was already off the rails, and Sephiroth had no idea how to stop it. He was helpless to the momentum that had built.

               “Things didn’t go the way I thought. Tifa and Barret came with me, and we formed our own little family. We were seraphs: we were too codependent to function without it. After the first battle, the others called us ‘the Avalanche.’ Sudden and unexpected, but deadly. Jenova turned to us because, as seraphim, we knew the in-and-outs of the circle of Heaven where the gods lived. The three of us started as foot-soldiers, but we didn’t stay that way. We knew too much and we fought too well. All that fire in us made us the greatest danger on the battlefield. Looking back, we could have taken control of that revolution. But we were seraphim. We were trained to follow, not lead. We took orders, never gave them. Jenova gave us someone new to follow, and we clung to her.”

               The longer he talked about the war, the more the bitterness returned. Yet there was a fondness that came with it, along with a baffling look of confusion.

               “Tifa and Barret started looking to me. They kept saying that I was the oldest. I ended up Jenova’s second in command. We fought that awful, bloody, disgusting war and we have nothing to show for it except a body count. We ended up killing so many of the seraphim that the gods had to create an entire new choir of them afterward. They caught us, and they held us, and they cast us out, one by one.”

               His lips twisted into what might have been a snarl, might have been a scowl, might have been a grimace, might have been a grin.

               “They saved the seraphim for last. They sent Jenova first, and we heard her laughing the whole way down. Then we could hear the screams as they sent the rest after her. They made us wait so they could make us listen. All of Heaven blamed us—Tifa, Barret, and I. We were traitors either way. We betrayed the angels who trusted us enough to talk to us in the beginning. We betrayed the gods in the end. They told us we would be called strife demons, because it was all we seemed to cause. I could have tolerated it all, taken it as nothing but penance, but they took our fire. Seraphim _are_ fire; it’s in our blood and our bone and every part of our being. It’s the core of what it means to _be_ a seraph. And before they cast us out they took it from us and gave us ice instead.”

               The admission came with the deepest hurt. It was clear that this, above everything else, had stricken Cloud to the core. This is what tore at the heart of him. His eyes began to shine and mist with the beginning of tears, but he gave a bitter laugh.

               “And Jenova didn’t care. She was different after the Fall. She said it was a gift, that we would make the Hells into our own Heaven. She had cared so much about every single soldier before the Fall, and she talked so much about how she would do right by us, how she would be better to us than the gods were to the angels. But she didn’t even try to get us back our fire. She didn’t try to get back anything _any_ of us lost. All she could focus on was _humans_ again. Heaven had robbed her, but no matter what she says about it, she still blames humanity for it. All she could think about was making humans pay. She built our entire culture and society, even our _economy_ around collecting human souls. She hoards everything we need to live and only gives us access if we give her souls. She won’t even tell _me_ what she does with them. She—”

               And then Cloud’s eyes cleared. He snapped back to present, finally remembering when and where he was. He looked up from the sword, glancing around the room, before making eye contact with Sephiroth. For a split second, he looked frantic, and for an even shorter fraction of a moment, afraid.

               Then it was all whisked away.

               That jovial grin was back. His face transformed as he laughed, dashing the tears from his eyes as if they were from the laughter. Suddenly, his body language was easy and open. He looked the way he always did.

               Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed.

               He looked the way he always did.

               Was he always burying this much under all that cheer?

               “Hells, do you always let people ramble at you like that? Speak up for yourself, kid,” he said, and contrary to what just came out of his mouth, cut Sephiroth off as he opened his own. “Any other questions?”

               “… Cloud?”

               It came out soft and concerned and just the slightest bit suspicious.

               The smile remained, the relaxed pose remained, but his eyes sharpened in warning.

               “Yeah?”

               Luckily, he wasn’t easily cowed.

               “Cloud, what you just—”

               “No.”

               His tone was as hard as his eyes.

               “No?”

               “No. I said too much, and we’re not discussing it. If you have any other questions, ask them.”

               It was a ridiculous suggestion. The look on Sephiroth’s face said as much.

               “We can’t _not_ discuss it, Cloud.”

               “We can. Very easily. Other questions?”

               “Cloud—”

               “ _Any_ other questions?”

               “ _Cloud_ —”

               “Suit yourself.”

               Cloud popped to his feet. He snatched his sword and slipped it onto his back as he walked, crossing the small room to the hall.

               “Cloud, _no_ —”

               He was immediately out of his chair, ready to follow.

               “Goodnight, Sephiroth!” he called, tone chipper in a way that was almost pointed. He was _sure_ it was pointed when Cloud slammed the door so hard he heard the frame crack.

               Sephiroth stared down the hall in silence until he finally whispered, “He doesn’t even sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I plan to do plot instead of just aimless world building I swear I do


	5. Chapter 5

               The revelation Cloud gave was, if nothing else, poorly timed. It left a lingering tension between them. Sephiroth was burning to ask more questions, to discuss what happened if for no other reason than to reassure Cloud that it changed nothing and he would keep his mouth shut. At first he was silenced with sharp looks. Then, when he persisted, Cloud simply talked over him until he gave up. When he persisted through _that_ , Cloud waved his hand strangely and Sephiroth found himself unable to speak. The demon left him like that for hours while calmly ignoring him, pouring over maps and making notes, only allowing him to speak again just to leave the room. Sephiroth was stubborn when he set his mind to it, but Cloud made a mule look agreeable once he decided to be.

               They only discussed pressing issues. What they would tell other commanders, battle strategies, supply and troop movements. They trained silently. When Sephiroth didn’t sleep or eat as much as Cloud knew was required to keep him at peak physical condition, he was chided until the issue was fixed. Even once they were deployed into active combat, they spoke about nothing unnecessary. Even when they shared the same, albeit large, commander’s tent to sleep (or whatever Cloud did to pass time at night), they were quiet. Even once Sephiroth won the respect of his troops through successful battles, they were quiet.

               Sephiroth had been raised friendless. He was accustomed to silence and speaking no more than necessary.

               But, after those first few weeks, he felt the new loneliness like a physical ache.

               Still. He would dead before he let sentiment cripple him.

               He accepted the state of things and moved on. This was the deal he had made. Cloud wasn’t violating it in any way, and the friendship he had offered at first wasn’t a requirement. If he decided not to offer it anymore, it was his own decision, and Sephiroth had no room to press. He could amend their deal, but it would cost him something else, and what he’d get in return would be fake and not something he thought he could stomach. The idea passed quickly and left a lingering distaste that it’d even come into his head.

               He hadn’t expected things to change, but if he had, he wouldn’t have guessed _how_ they would.

               They finished a particularly brutal battle and were left to clean up the aftermath. Cloud was off to his left, answering a captain’s question about supplies. His gloves were still bloody and there was a red streak high on his cheek, but he smiled with the ease he always had, the gore providing a contrast that would have turned the stomachs of the men had they been less experienced. Sephiroth watched quietly for a moment before returning to the task of cleaning his blade. He had no room to criticize Cloud’s nonchalance when the sight of the blood-splatter in his hair only made him tut at the inconvenience it would be to clean.

               He flicked the hair over his shoulder to continue wiping down Masamune, which was resting over his knees from where he was perched on a rock, when a hand poked in front of his face.

               He followed the hand up the arm to the shoulder to the face of a dark haired man who was beaming at him in a way that reminded him of Cloud.

               “Hi there,” the man said, as chipper and easy as the demon had ever been. “My name’s Zack.”

               Sephiroth blinked slowly, expecting to be informed of what Zack wanted, only to have the outstretched hand extended a little closer to him. His brow furrowed just slightly as he reached out to shake it.

               “Sephiroth.”

               “You saved my ass back there. I just wanted to say thank you,” Zack said.

               The wrinkle between his brows deepened.

               “I did my duty,” he explained.

               “Yeah, well, your duty kept my head on my shoulders, so I’m still grateful.”

               There was a long pause. Sephiroth didn’t know what Zack wanted from him. Gratitude was unexpected and unnecessary and not something he knew what to do with. Surely the man wanted to ask him for something—it was the only reason anyone approached him. He waited expectantly.

               When it became clear he wasn’t going to answer, Zack sighed and shifted to rest his weight into one hip, rubbing at the back of his neck.

               “Boy, they weren’t kidding. I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

               “Excuse me?”

               “Nothing,” he said, and before Sephiroth could press him, he said, “Come on, let’s go find out what mystery they’re gonna try and pass off as food.”

               “I don’t—” was as far as he got before Zack pulled him to his feet, dodging carefully around his sword, before dragging him off.

               He didn’t notice the way Cloud’s eyes cut to him and followed him with a strange sharpness.

               In fact, he didn’t notice the way Cloud continued to watch him with that look as Zack continued to pester him.

               He waited for Zack to just tell him what he wanted from him, and when that failed, asked him bluntly. He got that same sigh again before Zack told him this was what friendship looked like. Sephiroth stared at him mutely before walking away.

               But the next time Zack approached, he was less cold to him.

               He had a taste of friendship from Cloud, and while he was too proud to admit that he missed it, he couldn’t deny himself when it was presented from Zack. He wasn’t as open with the SOLDIER as he was with Cloud, but he did let his guard down some. The allowed himself the sarcasm and dry humor even if he guarded his secrets closely.

               He was so focused on his new friend that he didn’t notice the burning jealousy that Cloud would deny with his dying breath.

               He _did_ notice when Cloud began talking to him again, even if he didn’t put the timing together. He missed the demon’s friendship and was relieved enough to have it back that he didn’t consider any other motives.

               Not until Zack mentioned it.

               “Hey, Sephiroth,” he said with an uncharacteristic frown on his face. They were in the mess-hall, and the lull in conversation brought them to a strange turn as Zack watched Cloud pass by outside.

               “Yes?” he said, quickly following the SOLDIER’s gaze in an attempt to figure out what caused the strange expression before looking back.

               “Has Cloud ever mentioned anything I did to him?” he said, eyes still trailing after the man in question.

               Sephiroth glanced back at the blond just in time to see him pass out of sight.

               “Not to me,” he said. “Has he said something?”

               “No, but he’s—well, he’s kind of an asshole. To me.”

               Sephiroth looked at him with blatant confusion.

               “He’s not _rude_ ,” Zack explained, returning to poking at his food with his fork absently. “He’s just got this way of being nice but in a shitty way, if that makes sense. Sharp tongue, backhanded compliments, even if he’s still smiling. I thought that was just how he was, or that he was only nice to you, but then I started paying closer attention, and it seems like he’s only like that with people he doesn’t like. I must have done something; I just don’t know what it was. I’d like to smooth things over if I can.”

               Which was when it all clicked into place. Timing and behavior tended to be telling that way.

               “I’ll talk to him,” he promised.

               Zack flashed him a relieved grin and said, “Thanks, man.”

               He nodded and let Zack turn the conversation to a different topic, though he was distracted for the rest of the day.

               Despite what he said, it took him quite a while to broach the subject. There was no good way to tell the immortal demon he sold his soul to that he needed to stop being jealous. He settled on doing things the best way he knew how.

               Bluntly.

               “Cloud,” he said, watching the demon enter their tent from where he was sitting, sharpening his sword. He set it aside.

               “New report from the scouts,” he announced, waving the papers in his hands.

               “I need to ask you something,” Sephiroth admitted. It made Cloud pause.

               “I’m guessing it’s not about the scout report.”

               “It’s not.”

               Cloud sighed. He crossed the tent and set the papers on the trunk full of materia Masamune was sitting on and dropped into the seat across from Sephiroth, ruffling his hair.

               “Let’s hear it,” he said, sounding about as excited for this conversation as Sephiroth was, as he let his hand drop into his lap.

               “You don’t like Zack.”

               Cloud looked up at him. There was a second’s pause, and then he shrugged.

               “I’ve never really talked to him—I’ve never needed to. He’s a good fighter, doesn’t cause any problems, and you keep him up to date.

               “I know you well enough by now to know when you’re avoiding someone and how you speak to people you dislike.”

               Cloud frowned for a moment in a way that almost seemed petulant before shrugging again.

               “I don’t have to like everyone, do I?”

               “No,” Sephiroth said, “but if you dislike him because I _do_ like him, I’d like you to give him a fair shot.”

               Cloud’s eyes sharpened again in a way that Sephiroth now recognized as a warning.

               “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

               “We both know you do.”

               “I don’t.”

               “ _Cloud_.”

               “Whatever you’re trying to imply, you’re reading too much into it.”

               “I’m implying nothing. You’re jealous. You have no reason to be.”

               Over the past few months, Sephiroth had come to know Cloud relatively well. He was, in general, a warm person—especially considering he was a demon. But when he got angry, he grew as icy as his wings looked.

               The look that came over him could have frozen the Hells.

               “I’m not jealous,” he said, voice turning soft in a way that was all warning.

               “I don’t mind that you are,” Sephiroth said, matching that softness.

               It made Cloud pause. He blinked slowly.

               “I—well,” Sephiroth started before he paused. He cleared his throat before he continued. “Honestly, I’m flattered.”

               Cloud scoffed, half-tsk and half-laugh. He folded his arms and looked away, but that edge of anger had disappeared. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the demon was embarrassed.

               “Don’t be,” he said, and that, too, should have been hard. It wasn’t.

               “No one has ever cared about me enough to be jealous before.”

               This was straying into vulnerable territory. For both of them.

               When Cloud looked back to him, his expression was wary and guarded, but his eyes were soft and searching.

               Then he looked away again with a huff.

               “Don’t misunderstand. You’re _mine_ , that’s all.”

               He said it so matter-of-fact that neither quite realized what he said at first.

               Then his eyes shot back to Sephiroth, and the look they shared was equally wide-eyed.

               “Because of the _contract_ ,” he said quickly. “You’re literally mine. Your soul is mine. We agreed on it. We already knew that.”

               It was a poor cover. It was supported by fact, and that would have given Sephiroth pause, had it not been for the terrible delivery.

               A tension dropped from Sephiroth’s shoulders and his expression turned gentle.

               Cloud immediately sat upright and leaned forward.

               “No— _no_ , don’t give me that look. You want me to pull out the contract again? We have a deal. This is an exchange. This is business. You knew that from the moment we met. I’m literally here to take your soul from you. That’s the only reason I’m here at all. I have a right to you. To your soul.”

               A slow smile crept across Sephiroth’s face.

               A slow blush crept across Cloud’s.

               “ _No!_ You know what I mean!” He snatched at the empty air and held out their contract, pointing at Sephiroth’s signature at the bottom. “Your soul for my help!”

               “Cloud,” he said, voice curling at the edges with fondness.

               “Sephiroth,” the demon answered, a growl building in his chest.

               “Cloud, is this where you’ve been?”

               Sephiroth didn’t even have time to look. In a split second, he was thrown flat on his back. When he looked up, Cloud was crouched in front of him in a guarding position, sword in hand, standing between him and a woman who hadn’t been there a second ago.

               “Tifa.”

               Tifa rolled her eyes and looked down at him before crossing her arms. She was dressed in a simple white shirt and black skirt, which was distinctly not a SOLDIER uniform. He would have guessed she was a Wutai spy, if it wasn’t for the fact that Cloud clearly knew her.

               “Relax,” she said, her voice all warm amusement. “I’m not here for your pet.”

               The word went a flash of panic through Sephiroth and turned his stomach. It made him reconsider the entire last conversation right up until he heard the growl rip from Cloud’s chest.

               “What are you doing here,” he snarled: a demand instead of a question.

               “What are _you_ doing here?” she challenged.

               “My job.”

               She snorted.

               “‘Your job.’ We both know that isn’t your job. This isn’t what she meant when she told you to get back into things.”

               “How about you let _me_ worry about what she meant.”

               “ _Cloud_ ,” she said, and the warmth in her tone filled Sephiroth’s stomach with acid. He decided he distinctly disliked jealousy. No wonder Cloud didn’t like Zack. He certainly didn’t like this woman.

               Cloud bared his teeth, and when she just raised her eyebrows, he shifted upright, even if he was slow and stiff when he did it. He gave her one last look before turning his back to her and leaning down to hold his hand out to Sephiroth.

               He looked at Cloud in askance as he took his hand. Cloud looked thrown off and put out and serious, but he nodded his assurance. Regardless, once he had Sephiroth upright, he stepped pointedly in front of him. The thought that he needed someone to hide behind would have been a serious blow to his ego, but he had seen Cloud fight, and if this woman was anything like him, it wasn’t the insult it would have been otherwise.

               With himself carefully positioned between Sephiroth and Tifa, he turned back around and shoved his sword into the ground—easily within reach. He mirrored Tifa and folded his arms over his chest.

               “What do you want, Tifa?” he said, voice hard and flat in a way Sephiroth rarely heard it.

               Tifa softened and let her arms fall.

               “She wants you to come home.”

               He stiffened like a cat with raised hackles.

               “No.”

               “Cloud—”

               “ _No_.”

               “You know I can’t just tell her ‘no.’”

               “You can,” he said, in a voice like a whipcrack.

               “I can’t,” she said, brow pinching.

               With the same flick of the wrist, Cloud produced their contract and shoved it under her nose. With a look of skepticism, she glanced up at him before taking it to read.

               He glanced back at Sephiroth to make sure he was okay and, when he got a quick nod, he turned back just in time to see Tifa groan.

               “ _Cloud_ ,” she reprimanded, holding the contract out.

               “As you can see,” he said, taking it back with a look of disdain, “I’ll be occupied for a while.”

               “This contract is garbage. Years of work, no definitive end date, end of the contract is up to the human, all for one soul? This is rookie work.”

               “Oh well. It’s already signed. Legal and binding. I’ll be back when I’m not needed here anymore.”

               Tifa pinched the bridge of her nose. She rubbed her brow. Ran a hand through her hair.

               “Listen. Send him off. We’ll talk and—I don’t know, figure something out.”

               “No. You wanna talk? We’ll talk. But he’s staying.”

               Tifa’s eyes cut to Sephiroth before returning to Cloud. They narrowed.

               “This is serious, Cloud. He has to go.” Her patience was clearly running thin.

               “With you here? He’s not going out of my sight.”

               Her eyes went back to him, evaluating. They only returned to Cloud when every last one of his teeth was bared and the growl in his chest was loud enough to sound like a motorcycle.

               “It would end your contract sooner,” she suggested, trying to negotiate.

               “Tifa, did you forget last time we fought?” he said, tone dipping into that dangerous, quiet coldness.

               It worked. She winced, and then sighed.

               “He’s your quarry; I won’t touch him. That doesn’t mean he can hear what we have to talk about.”

               “You better find a way to phrase it that he can overhear, then.”

               She closed her eyes slowly.

               “Fine,” she said, looking up with irritation. When Cloud raised his eyebrows, she glanced one last time at Sephiroth, before turning back to him. “We have a… problem, at home. She wants you to come home and help fix it.”

               “Define problem.”

               There was a twitch of irritation.

               “How much definition do you want me to _give_?”

               Cloud looked smug when he said, “What’s the problem, Tifa? Scared of what one little human can do?”

               Her upper lip twitched, flashing a hint of fang.

               “War, Cloud. In _your_ Circle, which is spilling over to the other Hells. She wants you to come clean up your mess.”

               This time, it was Cloud’s turn to look irritated.

               “ _My_ mess?”

               “ _Your_ mess, Cloud. _Your_ Circle.”

               “How does she expect me to know everything that’s happening in Nibelheim when I’ve been managing _eight out of nine_ Circles, _Tifa?_ How’s _your_ Circle doing these days?”

               A chill swept through the room. By this point, both demons were radiating cold. Tifa was deliberately showing teeth this time.

               “If you were managing them so well, _Cloud_ , you would have noticed a revolution building.”

               “You expect me to be able to control eight governments and economies, do cross-Hell prison reform, _and_ keep a pulse on civil unrest among _demons_? There are revolutions every few decades and you know that!”

               “If there are so many wars, why was Nibelheim so poorly prepared to handle _one_ that it spilled over to everywhere else?”

               “Because Nibelheim’s been stable for centuries, _because_ it’s my Circle! I guarantee you what happened is that a movement took advantage of the stability to grow quietly and antagonized the other Circles before any fighting even broke out.”

               “Even if it that’s the case, this is your responsibility. You should have seen this coming.”

               “I’ve been reworking Barret’s Circle from the ground up! Exactly how much time do you think I have?”

               “Don’t blame this on him! _Apparently_ you have enough time to waste here for decades for _one soul_.”

               “Oh, should I blame you, then? Your Circle’s almost as bad as Barret’s and you’ve been too focused on Jenova to even notice. How’s that been working out for you? How many words have you gotten out of her in the past decade?”

               “Enough to be _very_ clear on the fact that she wants you to come home and _fix this_.”

               At this point, everything in the tent within a five foot radius was covered with frost. Cloud, in his anger, had lost enough control on his appearance that his fangs and claws had returned, fingers curled and flexed as if he was a second away from turning them against Tifa. Her tail had returned and was flicking behind her in a dangerous show of anger—it matched Cloud’s in its icy appearance.

               Cloud snatched the contract out of the air again and shoved it into Tifa’s chest.

               “I’m busy. Take that to her and tell her I’ll do what I can, but if you and Barret don’t start pulling your weight I’ll make sure she’s _perfectly_ clear about who let the Hells get into the state they’re in.”

               “Is that a threat?”

               “ _Yes._ ”

               Sephiroth remembered the tale Cloud had told him all those months ago, about the two seraphim who Fell with him, about how he had been Jenova’s second in command though the other two had come with him. He was beginning to understand that their dynamic might not have changed so much since the Fall.

               Tifa gave a long, rasping, dry hiss, but she froze when Cloud reached out and took the handle of his sword again. She went stiff. Then she was gone.

               He was definitely still her superior.

               She left all that tension in her wake, and it lasted until Cloud sighed and deflated, hand dropping from his hilt.

               Suddenly, he seemed very, very tired. He removed the frost covering everything, not a drop of moisture behind it, with an absentminded gesture before turning back to Sephiroth, rubbing his eyes in the process.

               “Are you alright?” he asked, looking up at the human.

               Sephiroth knew he looked surprised and alarmed and tense, but that was the extent of it.

               “Are _you_ alright?” he asked in return.

               Cloud sighed, and his shoulders drooped a little more.

               “Sorry you had to see that. We’re not usually—like that. It’s a long story,” he said

               “You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to,” he answered. There was an offer, there. A suggestion that, if Cloud _did_ want to, he’d be happy to listen.

               Cloud noticed. He offered a small, tired smile.

               “Maybe later,” he said. “I’m going to have to bounce back and forth between here and the Hells, but I promise it won’t make a difference. I’ll go at night when you won’t miss me.”

               “Go when you need to. I don’t want to be what gets you in trouble with Jenova.”

               Cloud immediately frowned.

               “You let me worry about Jenova. You’re giving me your _soul_ for my help. I know how she talked about it, but your soul has worth. You should get everything you can in exchange.”

               Sephiroth couldn’t fathom how, in the face of the conversation that had just taken place, Cloud found the time to be concerned for him.

               It reminded him of the conversation they had been having before they’d been interrupted. A conversation that should be continued at some point, but didn’t need to be. He got what he needed from it.

               Cloud cared about him. The nature of how he cared wasn’t clear, but Sephiroth was certain, now, that he did. He wondered how he was so blind that he didn’t see it sooner.

               “You let me worry about that,” he parroted. “Go take care of your business. I’ll take care of things here until you come back.”

               Cloud clearly wanted to argue, but the weight of what he had learned was hitting him, and he knew he didn’t have much room to protest.

               “By dawn,” he promised.

               “By dawn,” Sephiroth agreed.

               Cloud disappeared in a tinkling flutter of wings, and Sephiroth was left to digest what he had learned. The sheer magnitude of what he had learned. He was burning with questions, and he’d already had so many _before_ this.

               He spent the night thinking about what to ask Cloud next and how to ask him. He didn’t realize how much time he’d spent doing so until he heard Cloud return, though the demon moved so gently he wasn’t certain he’d come back until he actually opened his eyes and looked up.

               “Sorry,” Cloud whispered. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

               “You didn’t,” he said, deliberately not explaining that he hadn’t slept as he got out of bed. “How are things?”

               If Cloud looked tired before he left, he looked outright weary now.

               “Shit,” he sighed. “Complete shit. But it’s nothing that hasn’t happened before. I’ll clean it up, it’ll just take some time.”

               When Cloud deflected, asking about troop placements and their next move, Sephiroth let him.

               When Cloud continued deflecting, Sephiroth grew frustrated. Pressing things never worked in the past, but neither had avoiding topics. It didn’t help that, as the days turned into weeks, it only wore on Cloud more. He was tired and distracted and every spare moment was now filled with him doing paperwork written in a language Sephiroth had never seen before, but those were the only signs of his return to the Hells at all. Cloud was, as he had always been, true to his word. He said he wouldn’t let the war in the Hells change his part of their deal, and he kept that promise. Sephiroth wasn’t convinced he should actually broach the subject until he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

               He returned to their tent one afternoon to find Cloud curled up in his bed. Cloud’s own had never even been set up, as he’d never used it before. Sephiroth didn’t even think he _could_ sleep. He thought for a moment that maybe he wasn’t at all, just laying down, until he crept closer.

               Cloud was still dressed in his uniform, boots still on and sword dropped carelessly by the bed, but he was curled into a ball on top of the blankets, his knees tucked up by his chin. His hands were resting in loose curls on the pillow by his face. Sephiroth didn’t realize how long Cloud’s eyelashes were until he checked that his eyes were actually closed. His chest rose and fell slowly, but that wasn’t the biggest testament to his exhaustion.

               Apparently, while asleep, he wasn’t able to hide his true form.

               His parted lips showed a hint of fang and his fingers were tipped with claws. His wings were tucked around him in place of a blanket to keep him warm—and they were warm, despite the way they looked carved from ice. Sephiroth wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t taken the rare opportunity to touch the feathers as gently as he could to not disturb the demon. They were warm and strangely soft, the ice smooth and yielding to his touch. When he reached down, the tail that was draped over his ankles was just as soft.

               When he saw movement, he froze immediately, eyes shooting up to Cloud’s face. But his eyelashes were still fanned across his cheekbones and his breathing was still even and deep. The tip of his tail had lifted, though, and curled around the two fingers Sephiroth had pressed higher up against it. It was lazy and thoughtless and completely trusting.

               Sephiroth told himself very carefully that it was because of their contract. His soul was bound to Cloud. It must have been that tie that let Cloud know, even in sleep, that he wasn’t a threat.

               (He refused to think about the way his breath caught and heart raced at the determinedly ignored thought that maybe it was from something else.)

               He waited for Cloud to withdraw, but his tail remained wrapped around his fingers. He pulled away as slowly as he could, so sure that his luck would run out any second now, but Cloud’s tail just returned to where it had been laying over his ankles, tapped once, and fell still.

               He froze for a moment in indecision before coming to a conclusion.

               _In for a penny, in for a pound_ , he thought, and decided to press his luck.

               He took a second to remove his glove before he reached out again and ran his fingers over Cloud’s feathers. When he saw movement again, he still paused, but he continued on again quickly; Cloud shifted, but only to press his face further into the pillow. He stroked the wing slowly, tracing the shape of the bones and down through the feathers with careful fingertips. This time, when Cloud moved, he didn’t hesitate, trusting that the demon was soundly asleep. The wings stretched slightly, draping further over Cloud and just brushing the edge of Sephiroth’s leg.

               He only realized he was lost in the moment when he was startled out of it. He wasn’t sure when it had started, but at some point a rumble had built in Cloud’s chest that was eventually loud enough that Sephiroth looked around, thinking it was coming from outside the tent. It took him a long, long moment to realize that it was Cloud purring.

               It cost Sephiroth the last of his restraint. He was still very, very careful as he moved, but he chanced sitting on the bed. Cloud had taken the pillow from its place and formed a tight knot at the center of the bed, curled up so small, and considering he was a small person in general, he took up very little space at all. Sephiroth was able to settle at the top of the bed, his back resting against the trunks of ammo stacked at the head of the mattress. He left one leg to dangle over the edge, the other folded in front of him. One hand was left to rest in his lap, but with his other, he was still able to reach one of Cloud’s wings. Only one of the wings was forming a blanket; the other was mostly folded up against his back, though it was relaxed enough against the mattress that it formed the smallest arch against the sheets. Unwilling to squander the opportunity, Sephiroth let himself run his hand over and over the feathers, quietly watching Cloud sleep.

               Eventually, he fell asleep that way as well, one hand still curled gently over the edge of Cloud’s wing.


	6. Chapter 6

               When Sephiroth woke the next morning, Cloud was gone. When he found the demon, he acted like nothing happened and immediately launched into a discussion of weapon caches. Part of him was relieved that Cloud wasn’t upset when he found them together, however innocent it was. Part of him, a very small part of him that he intended to deny to his dying breath, was disappointed, though he didn’t know what he was hoping would come of it in the first place.

               Sephiroth was determined to put it behind him.

               There were more important things to focus on, like the fact that Cloud was quickly becoming worn thin. His performance never faltered, and he was as helpful as he had ever been. But every moment was filled with work; if it wasn’t with Sephiroth’s war, it was with Hell’s. He was always elbow-deep in paperwork. The sheer amount of it Sephiroth saw him with would have made him think that Cloud was just giving behind the scenes direction for the Hells, but sometimes he woke up early enough to catch him.

               He came home with the dawn without fail. At first, Sephiroth pretended to still be asleep to give Cloud some privacy and stop him from changing his behavior. The demon was strangely protective and no matter how much he denied it, Sephiroth was sure he was trying to shield him from whatever was happening in the Hells. Night after night, he came back covered in oily, black blood. Quietly and methodically, he wiped himself and his sword clean with a towel and bowl of water, though it was an unnecessary ritual. He made the gore disappear from his clothes and the rag with a flick of his wrist. But this seemed to be important to Cloud, and he had no intention of stopping him.

               He was going to keep pretending he never saw anything until, one morning, he watched with half-lidded eyes in silence, only to see the process halt. Cloud, partially facing Sephiroth’s bed, stopped in his tracks. His hands began to shake, and Sephiroth had never seen them anything but perfectly steady. Then his face crumpled. He put a hand over it. He would have thought he was crying if it wasn’t for the stillness of his shoulders and the evenness of his breath.

               But Sephiroth had seen enough. Though h climbed out of bed without a word, the movement was enough; Cloud’s hand dropped and his eyes shot up.

               And then the sunny smile was back.

               “Sorry, Sephiroth, did I wake you?” he said, as if nothing was wrong.

               “Stop it,” he said.

               “Stop what?”

               “Just stop.”

               Cloud opened his mouth to continue, but he quieted when Sephiroth took the towel from his hand. He lifted Cloud’s arm with a soft touch and picked up where he left off, wiping the blood away.

               It was a long, long time before he whispered, “You don’t have to do that.”

               “I know,” he answered.

               And from that day on, Sephiroth woke with the dawn, with Cloud’s return, without pretense. For someone who so carefully hid behind his cheer, Cloud was so solemn in those moments. His eyes were downcast and he didn’t say a word. At first, he had started cleaning himself up despite being approached, but he always yielded when Sephiroth took the cloth from his hands. Eventually, when it was clear Sephiroth didn’t intend to let him carry out this ritual alone, he just waited. He stood, eyes turned to the ground and so very distant, fingertips and sword dripping. He had to peel the blade from Cloud’s fingers sometimes. But there was never any resistance.

               And he could have handled that, because Cloud made it very clear that he considered the revolution his own problem. But, with alarmingly quickly increasing frequency, he returned to his tent at different hours to find Cloud asleep in his bed again. He still wasn’t sure why; he had his own bed, even if it still wasn’t prepared. He didn’t know how he was supposed to react. Sometimes, he put a blanket over Cloud and sat elsewhere in the tent to do paperwork—he wouldn’t leave Cloud alone, vulnerable and exposed, where anyone could find him without the glamor he hid behind. Sometimes, he sat with him on the bed, either doing his own work or drifting off to sleep himself. No matter what he did, the only acknowledgement Cloud ever gave was the consistent apology, as if falling asleep was some great failing. He was doing the work of twenty men and only seemed upset that he couldn’t do the work of twenty more.

               Eventually, he mustered up the courage to broach the subject. He did it in those early-morning moments where he knew Cloud would be without pretense.

               His voice was hushed when he said, “I want you to go home.”

               His hands stilled as he looked up to Cloud. He watched the demon struggle to refocus himself, to pull himself back from wherever he had gone. Eventually, he met his eyes with a pinch between his brows.

               “What do you mean?” he said in a voice that was just as quiet.

               “You can’t keep this pace up. I don’t want you to. Go take care of your war, I can handle things here.”

               Again, it took Cloud a moment to understand what he said. He could see him struggle to process, like the gears of his mind were sticky with mud. He should have had this conversation sooner.

               “No,” Cloud said, shaking his head. “These wars last decades sometimes. I don’t know when I’d be able to come back, and we have a deal.”

               “Yes, and it’s a deal for _my_ soul, and _I’m_ asking you to go do what you need to. I don’t like watching you run yourself ragged for my sake. It’s unnecessary.”

               “I’m not _run ragged_. I’m just a little tired. I’ve handled worse, trust me.”

               The fog was lifting from Cloud’s mind, and in its place came that upbeat attitude. There was a smile starting at the edges of his lips, a little upturn in his voice. It hurt Sephiroth’s heart to see.

               He reached down and cupped one of Cloud’s hands between his own.

               “Cloud, you don’t have to hide from me.”

               “I don’t know what you mean.”

               “You do,” he whispered, looking up with such a hurt expression that Cloud faltered. The cheer slipped from his face. His shoulders slumped.

               “I promise, I can handle this,” he said, voice low but fervent.

               “I know you can,” he said, turning his eyes down to their hands. “That doesn’t mean you should have to.”

               “Sephiroth, I—”

               “I can’t keep watching you suffer for my sake, Cloud.”

               There was a silence that followed, and it stretched so long that he eventually looked up, only to see Cloud looking heartbroken.

               “I could never live with myself if I robbed you like that. I know you think you do, but you don’t understand the deal you made, not really. It’s your _soul_ , Sephiroth. You’re human, you have no way of understanding the gravity of that. I do. I don’t like the idea of taking your soul at all, much less taking it while knowing I didn’t give you everything I could in exchange.”

               He softened. Cloud had never really been indifferent toward him, but he’d never seemed so concerned, either.

               “If I only have until our deal ends, then I want to live the best that I can in the time I have. I can’t do that if you’re suffering.”

               Cloud pulled his hand away only to reach up, his fingers gentle on Sephiroth’s cheek.

               “Little soul,” he whispered, almost reverent, “you shouldn’t concern yourself with me.”

               He would deny the way he leaned into the touch.

               “It’s far too late for that now.”

               There was another long moment, where Cloud looked at him with an infinite softness, something he’d never seen from him before.

               When Cloud moved, he didn’t think to resist. His hand slid around to the back of Sephiroth’s neck and carefully pulled him down. They both let their eyes slip shut as their lips pressed together, sweet as could be.

               The moment was ruined as Cloud went stiff, fingers digging into the back of his neck.

               His head turned down, forehead knocking against Sephiroth’s, who pulled away to look at him. His face was pinched with something crossed between confusion and horror, eyes shut. His stomach sank, filled with cold, leaden dread. Was it disgust? Was it because it was him, or because he was human?

               He worked himself into a tighter and tighter knot until, eventually, Cloud’s eyes shot open with a gasp, as if he’d had ice water poured over his head.

               “No,” he whispered, and this time it was definitely with horror.

               “Cloud?” he breathed.

               “No,” he repeated. “No, no, I said I would never. _No._ I don’t want this.”

               “… Cloud?”

               He pulled away, filled with a line of tension that might have been hurt and might have been anger.

               He realized it was definitely anger when Cloud kicked over a chair, turning it into matchsticks.

               “ _No!_ ”

               He broke the table next.

               Sephiroth watched, mute, as he proceeded to ruin their tent and most of the things in it until he wore himself out and dropped to his knees. He buried his face in a hand.

               He wanted to snap, to lash out with all the anger and hurt that had built during Cloud’s tantrum. Instead, he crossed toward him.

               “Cloud?” he asked again, voice hushed as he reached down and touched his shoulder. He watched as a visible shiver ran through him, an echo of it running through Sephiroth, before all the tension drained from his body. He looked up with big, doleful eyes.

               “I didn’t mean to,” he whispered. “I didn’t know you even could on accident. I didn’t _mean_ to.”

               Whatever happened, it wasn’t horror at the thought of kissing a human. It was something much, much more serious. It soothed the hurt in him enough that he was calm when he knelt down in front of him.

               “What, Cloud? What did you do?”

               “I—… we’re bonded.”

               He blinked slowly.

               “I don’t know what that means.”

               Cloud cursed quietly before scrubbing his hands over his face.

               “We’re bonded. I’ve only ever heard of it happening on purpose. I _thought_ it had to be intentional. Barret and Tifa bonded on purpose. It’s supposed to be a mutual agreement both parties enter into knowingly. This isn’t even supposed to be _possible_.”

               “Cloud, I don’t know what being bonded is.”

               When he lowered his hands, they were shaking. He breathed out slowly and shifted into a sitting position with his legs crossed. Sephiroth mirrored him, letting their knees bump. It wasn’t something he’d usually allow, but for some reason, it unwound a knot he hadn’t even realized had formed inside of him. He watched as Cloud, too, relaxed at the contact, before realizing what he’d done and swearing quietly again.

               “Demons don’t have marriage or partnerships the way humans do,” he explained. “We’re mostly solitary creatures. In some very, very rare occasions, demons bond. Their souls are tied together. Permanently fused. Bonded.”

               Sephiroth stared back at him. He didn’t understand.

               “ _Our_ souls bonded, when we kissed. I’ve never heard of it happening on accident, much less with a human.” He paused, and when he looked up again, it was with an expression full of guilt. “I’m so sorry, Sephiroth. I’m _so_ sorry. I never would have done this to you without your consent. _Never_. I need you to know that.”

               He stared. He didn’t understand.

               Cloud reached out and took his hand, and this time, they both shivered.

               “Sephiroth,” he whispered. “Please say something.”

               It was another long, long moment before he blinked, finally really looking at Cloud. The demon was tense, and guilty, and strangely afraid. Terrified, even.

               He looked down at their hands.

               He carefully laced their fingers together.

               They shivered again.

               “My soul was already yours, Cloud. This changes nothing.”

               “This changes _everything_. This isn’t an eventual exchange where at some point I rob you of your soul, to do with what I will. We’re _bonded_. Now and forever. You’ll never be free from me.”

               Sephiroth turned his eyes up to Cloud’s face. Guilt and fear, still.

               “You say that like it’s a death sentence.”

               “It’s _worse_ than a death sentence,” he said, and Sephiroth was coming to understand that the fear was for _his_ sake. “Death would let you escape, eventually. You’d be at peace. I’m not sure what will happen when your body dies, but you’ll never be able to escape me. You’re trapped. Forever.”

               “You aren’t a prison, and this isn’t a punishment.”

               He could feel Cloud flinch at the word “prison.” He cursed himself internally; he should have known better. He tightened his hold on Cloud’s hand, and it felt electric when their skin slid together. His eyes shut this time, the shiver that ran down his spine stronger. He didn’t see Cloud do the same.

               “You don’t understand,” Cloud whispered, prompting both to open their eyes.

               “You keep saying that.”

               “Because you _don’t_ ,” he said, frustration creeping into his tone. “We’re talking about forever. _Eternity_. You aren’t even two decades old yet, you have no idea of what that means. You might like me now, you must at least on some level if the bond was completed, but you’ve barely even known me a year. You’ll tire of me quickly, but you’ll be stuck with me until the worlds end. You’ll come to resent me for it, and it won’t matter, because our souls are one now, and there’s no way to undo that. Sixteen years in a lab is nothing compared to forever tied to someone you hate.”

               If there was anything Sephiroth hated, it was being spoken down to. Like he was a child. While, in comparison to Cloud, it could be argued that he was, that wasn’t the reason that he wasn’t infuriated. If anything, he softened.

               “Cloud, you aren’t the lab.”

               “No, I’ll be worse in the long run.”

               “Please, don’t talk about yourself this way.”

               It made him pause. Blink.

               “What way?”

               “Like you’re awful, or disgusting, or loathsome. You aren’t.”

               Cloud melted, half-softening and half-slumping. He looked away.

               “You barely know me. Give it time.”

               Sephiroth wasn’t sure what was happening at first, what the sick, slick feeling that curled around his stomach was. He didn’t realize it was an emotional bleed-over, Cloud’s self-loathing making him feel ill.

               It might have been that bleed-over, it might have been the way they were now intertwined, it might have been the simple knowledge that the affection he felt was mutual. Whatever it was, it was enough that he didn’t think twice before reaching out and cupping Cloud’s face, thumb stroking over his cheekbone. He could feel as much as see the way Cloud gasped, his eyes fluttering shut. Gods, but everything was so _intense_.

               “Getting to know you better will be a pleasure,” he murmured.

               Cloud leaned into the touch, sighing and nuzzling into his palm like a touch-starved cat. He was still convinced that this would end poorly, that it would all come crashing in around his ears, that Sephiroth would hate him in the end, but for the moment, it was bliss.

               “I want you to promise me something,” he said, voice quiet, trying to fight down the purr building in his throat.

               “Anything.”

               “When you change your mind, tell me. You’re chained to me, but I don’t want to be a burden.”

               Cloud wasn’t even sure if “emotional bleed-over” was a real part of soul-bonds until he felt Sephiroth’s heartbreak. He winced, and when he finally cracked open his eyes, he could see the hurt on his face, could see where it melted into anger.

               “I don’t know who taught you to think this way, but I want to make them bleed.”

               His brow furrowed. Sephiroth didn’t usually talk like this.

               “What do you mean?”

               “You aren’t a burden, or a chain, or a punishment, or something terrible others are saddled with. You’re nothing but a joy to be around. I don’t know if it was Tifa or Barret or Jenova, but I would love few things more than to hurt them the way they hurt you.”

               Cloud stared at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

               “They—they haven’t—”

               “They have, Cloud. In more ways than one.”

               After a long pause, he whispered, “I don’t deserve you.”

               “Well, it looks like I’ll have plenty of time to prove to you that, if anything, the reverse is true.”

               Cloud’s only answer was the way tears slowly built in his eyes.

               Sephiroth leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together. Both let their eyes fall shut and gasped in time, though for Sephiroth it was a sharp inhale, and Cloud sounded like he’d just gotten his first breath after drowning.

               “One way or another, I’m going to prove to you that you deserve kindness,” Sephiroth promised in a whisper that Cloud breathed in, almost as if he needed those words than the air itself.

               When Cloud repeated, “I don’t deserve you,” he sounded just a little more broken than he did before. It had been so long since he had been handled gently that he didn’t know what to do with it anymore.

               For the second time that day, Sephiroth pressed his lips to Cloud’s, and it felt profoundly right. He had been raised in a lab, then lived in a strange apartment, then was thrown into war—he’d never belonged anywhere before, and he had no idea what a real homecoming felt like, but he thought this must have been it.


	7. Chapter 7

               Sephiroth wasn’t one to wake slowly. He was easy to wake in general, yanked from sleep by the smallest sounds, and had long since been trained to be ready for anything the second he was conscious. Even on calm mornings, where he had no immediate obligations and no incoming threats, he was fully awake in a moment and popped out of bed after only a few seconds.

               This was different.

               He felt warm and safe and comfortable in a way that was wholly new. Everything felt fuzzy in this strange half-asleep state, where he didn’t know when or where or who he was, only that he was content. He could have stayed like that forever, and he scowled as he felt it fade, mourning the loss.

               “Shit,” someone said, someone intimately familiar, who might have been next to him or a thousand miles away from the sound of his voice. “Did I wake you?”

               “Hmm?” It was more stalling than an actual response.

               Fingertips skimmed over his face, down his temple and over his cheekbone, and he felt more blissful than he did in that first almost-dream state. He leaned into the touch even as it pulled away. He settled back down, enjoying the softness of his pillow and the warmth around him for a moment longer before he properly applied himself to understanding his surroundings.

               But he was just so _comfortable_.

               Maybe he could just sleep a little longer.

               He was slipping back into sleep when he felt lips press against his own. He kissed back without thinking, about whether or not he should or who this was or why any kissing was happening at all. It was his own easy acceptance that confused him the most and finally prompted him to open his eyes.

               Cloud was there with him, lying in a tangled heap on the narrow cot. It was a near thing, fitting the two of them on it at all, but Cloud was small, and when they pressed very close and let their limbs slot together, they managed it. They were covered in all the blankets they could find, because Cloud admitted in the night that (even though he had grown accustomed to it) he almost always felt cold, with the demon’s wing draped over them in addition. They held each other loosely, fingers splayed against backs and curving over arms. When Cloud gave him a golden smile, it was easy to return.

               “Good morning,” Cloud breathed, and Sephiroth found his breath hitching in his chest.

               “Good morning,” he answered in a whisper.

               There was more to be said, but on an impulse (despite not being an impulsive person), he leaned forward to kiss Cloud again, who laughed brightly at the gesture. When he laid his head back on their pillow, both were smiling again.

               “We ought to get up,” Cloud said, running his thumb along Sephiroth’s arm.

               “We ought to,” Sephiroth agreed.

               Neither moved.

               When it became clear that neither intended to, Cloud started to laugh, and it was infectious. It would be a nightmare if the troops were to see them, the two “Demon Generals,” curled up in bed together giggling.

               Regardless of obligations, it was a long time before either seriously attempted leaving bed. There was no need to really speak; they were both comfortable in silence and more comfortable yet in each other’s presence. Instead, they laid there, touching slowly and kissing gently and gazing at each other with such love that, should either have witnessed the scene, they both would have left in disgust.

               Still, they couldn’t stay in bed all day, much as they would have liked to. Eventually, Cloud sighed and, pressing one final kiss to Sephiroth’s lips, sat upright. Sephiroth followed, stretching lazily as Cloud stood up, and then immediately froze.

               Both were filled with panic. Their hearts seized and breath caught in their throats. Every muscle went stiff and eyes locked wide. Neither had felt anything like it before, the sheer fear and desperation.

               It only lasted a split second.

               With such speed that they blurred, Sephiroth reached for Cloud to pull him back and Cloud dove for Sephiroth’s arms.

               As soon as they reconnected, the panic passed as quickly as it had come. They sighed in relief, pressing their foreheads together where they were, with Cloud straddling Sephiroth’s lap.

               What lasted longer was that moment of return. They could both breathe again, and being filled with warmth and light and love after that cold terror was so intense that they shuddered.

               But eventually that moment passed too, and they were left in the aftermath, where Cloud pulled back with an expression crossed between anger and dread on his face.

               “I thought that was a myth,” he whispered.

               “Myth?”

               “Gods damn every last soul in the Hells,” he swore before moving away and standing up again.

               Fear.

               Dread.

               Panic.

               He immediately sank back into Sephiroth’s lap with what was more of a collapse of the knees than anything before slamming his fist into the bed hard enough that the frame rattled.

               “Cloud?” he asked, tense with trepidation. He had an idea of what was going on, but he wasn’t even sure if he wanted it confirmed.

               The demon took a deep breath before speaking.

               “I thought it was just a story, but I never paid very much attention to any details on soul-bonding. It’s apparently more than a story.”

               “Cloud, you’re being vague.”

               Another pause. Cloud slumped, dropping his head to Sephiroth’s shoulder.

               “When souls first bond, there’s an adjustment period. It takes your soul some time to get accustomed to being tied to another. Apparently it also means that physical separation is impossible during that time.”

               “… fuck.”

               Cloud gave a dark chuckle at his rare curse.

               “‘Fuck,’ indeed.”

               “Cloud, we have two wars to fight. Two wars to _lead_. We can’t do that if we’re literally attached at the hip.”

               Cloud opened his mouth to speak and then froze when a new voice said, “No. No, you can’t.”

               Sephiroth didn’t even bother looking at the speaker; he was too focused on Cloud. Cloud, who turned at least three shades paler, every muscle tensing and every line of his body going stiff. His fingers dug painfully into Sephiroth’s arms and, after his initial gasp of surprise, he didn’t seem to be speaking.

               “Cloud,” the woman called, and it was like the demon was a puppet whose strings had been cut.

               He slumped. His fingers went slack and slipped, hands falling into his lap. His head bowed, eyes shutting. His shoulders curled forward.

               “Jenova,” Cloud whispered.

               “We need to talk,” Jenova said.

               Sephiroth was too focused on Cloud to care. He brought his hand up to touch Cloud’s arm; touching his face in front of this woman seemed too intimate. Still, Cloud leaned into it, and it seemed to help. He looked at least a little less defeated. He opened his eyes and looked up at Sephiroth, searching for something, though the human couldn’t guess what it was. Still, he nodded, and that too seemed to help. Cloud nodded in return and shifted so he was sitting next to Sephiroth on the bed, facing Jenova, though their thighs were pressed together and their hands twined.

               For the first time, Sephiroth took a good, long look at Jenova. She was pale, but not any paler than Cloud. She had long silver hair and dressed in a matching, metallic looking outfit, though her pants and top were simple and missing the ornate decoration that Cloud had first appeared in; she was, however, similarly barefoot. Her eyes were a familiar shade of green, with familiar slit pupils. Unlike Cloud, there was no hint of claws or fangs or wings or a tail, but Tifa hadn’t had any of that either when she first appeared.

               “I’m listening,” Cloud said, and he seemed to be back to himself. If it hadn’t been seared into his mind, Sephiroth would have thought he imagined that moment of pure defeat.

               “Let me break your soul bond,” Jenova said, in a sweet, crooning voice. It sounded reassuring and warm but underneath it all was a demand nonetheless.

               “What? No,” Cloud said, brows pinched. His hand squeezed Sephiroth’s tighter reflexively.

               Jenova clasped her hands in front of her and said, “Now isn’t the time, is it, Cloud? You have two wars to fight. They will both end poorly if their generals disappear, hmm?”

               “There are other generals,” Cloud answered. He was arguing instead of cowing, it was true, but it felt very much like a child trying to reason with a parent who still had the final say in the end. Sephiroth watched the two speak with a frown. He didn’t like how this was going.

               “But you’re the best there is, aren’t you?”

               “ _You’re_ the best general I’ve met, Jenova.”

               “I’m occupied, at the moment,” she said, and her sharp eyes cut over to Sephiroth. “There much to do in the human world right now.”

               Cloud looked between Jenova and Sephiroth with confusion and concern.

               “What do you mean?” he asked.

               “I mean that the human war can’t be compromised. It’s Sephiroth’s debut, and it’s critical that it goes well.”

               Sephiroth would have been infuriated about Jenova speaking about him like he wasn’t there, if he wasn’t so disturbed by what her words and her manner.

               “Critical to _what_?”

               “Us, Cloud,” Jenova purred, finally looking back to the demon, and everything about her changed. She had been beautiful when she arrived, but suddenly she was alluring and charming and almost seductive. She was suddenly as much siren as she was demon. The only reason Sephiroth even noticed the change was because the effect seemed to be aimed at Cloud, who seemed dazed.

               “Us,” Cloud answered lowly. It should have been a question. It wasn’t.

               She opened her mouth to speak again, but then Cloud shook his head. When he looked back to Jenova, he still wasn’t entirely present, but he wasn’t as far away as he was before, either.

               “What do you mean, ‘us?’” Cloud asked. The corner of Jenova’s mouth twitched down, but then she sighed.

               “You were always going to ask sooner or later,” she said, mostly to herself. “I have a plan. I’m going to get us back into Heaven.”

               Cloud’s jaw dropped, everything about him going shocked and slack.

               “What?” he whispered, something that toed the line between fear and hope in his voice.

               “I found a way. There’s a materia, a black materia. I’ve been trying to use it for years, but it won’t work for demons, and it kills any human that tries. But with it, we can turn the planet into a husk and use it to reach Heaven again. We can go back, Cloud.”

               There were a million questions burning on the edge of Cloud’s tongue, and a day ago, the first one he asked would have been very different. But today was a different day.

               “How does Sephiroth play into this?” he asked, glancing over at the human, just as Jenova turned her eyes to him as well.

               “Humans can wield the materia, but it kills them before it fully activates. Demons can withstand it, but they can’t use it. We needed someone who was half of each. It was a long time in the making, but I lead Shinra into the experiment Sephiroth was born from. I gave them a sample of my blood, and they were only too happy to use it. He’s our key.”

               Sephiroth’s world spun. He was filled with as many questions as Cloud was. His entire history, his worldview was flipped on its head.

               He knew he’d been created with a goal in mind, but _this_ was it?

               “Jenova, _no_.”

               She pulled herself upright, blinking in surprise. The last of that alluring glamor fell from her.

               “Excuse me?”

               “No,” Cloud repeated, sounding infinitely sadder. “This is a bad idea. They don’t want us back home, and I can’t repeat the last war. Let Sephiroth live the rest of his life as he chooses and forget this before it gets out of hand.”

               Jenova scoffed.

               “You’re saying that now because your soul is bound to his. You’re biased. Let me split you, and you’ll be thinking clearly again.”

               “I _am_ thinking clearly. Even if it wasn’t Sephiroth, I’d still tell you we shouldn’t do this. It will only end badly and you _know_ that.”

               “Cloud, as your _friend_ —”

               “Jenova, you didn’t come here as my friend, you came here as my leader.”

               She didn’t seem inclined to disagree.

               “This is the path I’m leading you down. Come with me.”

               “I don’t _want_ to.”

               Cloud’s position on the matter was clear. He had drawn a line and was sticking by it. Yet something about the exchange seemed off. Like he was pleading with her. Like, somehow, he knew she would be able to force his hand.

               Sephiroth didn’t know what power she had over him, but he didn’t like it.

               He did, however, have a hunch.

               “If you’re going to split us regardless of what we say about it, then get it over with,” Sephiroth challenged.

               She glanced at him with a look of irritation, her upper lip twitching just slightly, giving a flash of teeth.

               “I’m not speaking to you, human.”

               “I’m speaking to you, Jenova.”

               Cloud whipped around to look at him like he had three heads. Sephiroth ignored him and that look.

               “Insolent child.”

               “True enough,” he agreed. “Do you know what I think?”

               “I think you’re going to speak regardless, because you clearly don’t know your place yet.”

               “I think that you can’t split us without at least one of us agreeing.”

               That lip twitch again.

               Cloud looked between the two of them, suddenly an onlooker in their stand-off.

               “He’ll agree.”

               “I don’t think he will.”

               “He _will_ agree.”

               Both looked to Cloud.

               Cloud looked between them.

               He didn’t look happy.

               “Cloud, you’ve followed me all these years. After everything, you owe me your allegiance.”

               “Cloud, you don’t owe her a thing. I’ve heard nothing to make me believe that she actually cares about you,” he said, and when Cloud looked like he’d been slapped, he softened. “She does nothing but take advantage of you. You give so much, and you ask for nothing in return, and she counts on that. She’s lead you, but so far, has she brought you anywhere you actually wanted to go?”

               Not only did Cloud look like he’d been struck, he paled so much that there were ghosts with more coloring.

               “I…”

               Sephiroth turned and took Cloud’s other hand, holding both between them.

               “All I want is for you to put yourself first. If that means agreeing with her, then agree. But don’t do this just to appease her, or because you don’t think you have a choice. You do.”

               Cloud hesitated, looking both comforted and hurt at the same time.

               “Cloud,” Jenova snapped, in a voice like a whip-crack. “Give me permission to split you. _Now._ ”

               There was a very, very long moment before Cloud said, in a trembling whisper, “No.”

               Jenova’s face wiped clean for a moment in shock, right before it twisted in a knot of anger.

               “ _What_?”

               When he spoke again, he had more confidence.

               “No. I’m staying bonded to Sephiroth. You can find someone else to lead your wars.”

               “ _Cloud_ ,” Jenova warned.

               “While you’re at it,” Sephiroth interrupted, “you can find someone else to wield your materia for you, too.”

               Jenova looked between the two of them and, seeing matching looks of determination, hissed once, before immediately vanishing.

               There was a beat, and then both Sephiroth and Cloud sighed.

               Cloud shifted, turning to face Sephiroth, and then burying his face in his neck.

               “Thank you,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to, but I think I needed to hear that.”

               Sephiroth hummed, placing a hand low on Cloud’s back.

               “I don’t think I like her very much,” Sephiroth said, earning a laugh from Cloud.

               “You know, for some reason, it didn’t seem like you did.”

               Sephiroth smiled when Cloud looked up, and the demon matched him for a second, before his face fell.

               “What do we do now? We went from two wars to none in a day.”

               “We find somewhere to settle while we learn the rest of the details of this soul-bond so there are no more surprises like today, and we go from there.”

               Cloud frowned.

               “The only place I have to go back to is Nibelheim, and I can’t bring you there.”

               “We can’t return to Midgar, or Shinra will just try to ship us out again.”

               Now they both frowned as they thought.

               “The mountains?”

               “You hate the cold, Cloud.”

               “But it doesn’t bother me.”

               “That doesn’t make it ideal.”

               “I guess not. We’re not going to the desert, though. Too hot.”

               “And too dry.”

               They carried on the discussion, but as they tossed ideas back and forth, they unwound. Somewhere along the line, they returned to the lazy tangle in bed they had woken in. They had only attempted to get out of bed because they had obligations, and suddenly, they owed nothing to anyone but themselves.

               Frankly, neither were very sure what to do with that. They’d both always been under someone else’s thumb, whether it was the gods and Jenova or Shinra. If they let themselves consider the enormity of what just happened, they would be overwhelmed, and sooner or later they’d reach that point.

               Still—for the moment, it was bliss. They had hope and endless prospects; they had plans to make and an open road ahead of them.

               But most importantly, they had each other.


End file.
